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HEARTS 


BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY 


If TO 27 Vai^deW^ter 3 t 
•J^ewTof^K;- 




? Library, Pocket Edition, Issued Tri-weekly. 

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HEARTS: 


QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 



DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY. 

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ca 09- 


HEARTS; QUEEH, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


CHAPTER L 

A YOUKG man attired in the height of the fashion of 
1870 was no very strange figure in the Strand on any 
evening of that year; and Tom Carroll, though gloriously 
bedizened, excited no unusual admiration 'or regard. A 
handsome young Briton, with a gay, honest face and 
friendly eyes — at first sight a likable lad — he was pleasant 
enough to look at, as he walked, head well up, and eyes 
smiling, prosperous and contented with the world, and 
evidently disposed to be on kindly terms with all men. It 
was in the dusk of a summer evening, and the spire of St. 
Clements Dane^'s was backed by a celestial golden fleece, 
which no Londoner regarded. Corners and by-places were 
beginning to be filled with shadows; and the street gas- 
lamps and the lights in the shop-windows had a sort of 
twilight brightness. At such times you may walk about 
in a shabby suit of clothes, if you will; and Tom Carroll, 
running full against Antonio Baretti,* an old acquaintance 
of his, beheld at first no change in him. 

This Antonio Baretti was an Italian and an artist, and 
only a little while ago he had begun to be a person of some 
note. Even if he chose to go shabby, that might be one of 
the affectations of successful genius. But Baretti was not 
yet so eminently successful that he could afford to cut a 
man like Tom Carroll, whose social position was indisputa- 
ble, whose pockets were full of money, and whose life was 
spent in the pursuit of all the arts at once, and in compan- 
ionship with wealthy and titled people, who relied upon his 
judgment in the matter of pl^s, pictures, and music. For 
Tom was a dilettante of the inost agreeable and popular 
type, and a grati^m all manner of high places. 

It was more than a little odd, therefore, that Baretti should 
make a palpable effort to avoid him ; and it was all the 


6 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


more singular because the two youngsters had been rather 
enthusiastic than otherwise over each other^s achievements. 
They were good fellows, both, into the bargain. 

‘‘ Why, Baretti,^"" said TorA, stretching forth a hand and 
laying hold of him by the lapel of the coat, wonT you 
^peak to a fellow 

‘‘ I — beg your pardon,^^ said the little Italian; I was 
in a hurry and did not — His voice trailed away, and he 
left the sentence unfinished. • 

“ You re not well,^^ said the young Englishman, bring- 
ing out a second hand and laying it on another shoulder. 
The artist, with an outward gesture of both hands, seemed 
at once to deprecate inquiry and to indicate his own condi- 
cion. The velvet coat was very threadbare and crumpled. 
The little man^s linen was unpleasantly yellow and much 
disarranged. His face was pallid, and his chin and cheeks 
were stubbly. YouTe not well, Baretti. What^s the 
matter?^^ . 

I am not well of late,^'’ said the shabby artist; but 
how are you? And how are all the little people — the 
opera, and the sonata, and the gavotte? And how is the 
landscape? W ell 

Come and dine somewhere,^ ^ returned Tom. The 
other repeated that outward gesture of the hands. Come 
and dine. I want to have a talk with you. Where have 
you been hiding yourself?^ ^ 

I have not been in hiding, said Baretti, with an un- 
deceptive pretense of gayety. Tom Carroll, with a hand 
on each of the little man^s shoulders, looked him up and 
down. A button was missing from the shabby velvet 
jacket, and the loose threads from which it had escaped 
hung down untidily. The patent leather boots were 
oracked and broken. 

Tell me the truth,^^ said Tom, rocking him lightly to 
and fro. Come home with me to my chambers, and tell 
me the truth about yourself. 

Baretti blushed fiercely, and then turned white. His lips 
began to tremble, and when he stole a look at his compan- 
ion there was a gleam of tears in his black Italian eyes. 

I will go with you,^^ he said huskily, and I will tell 
you everything. 

‘‘ Very well,^^ said Tom, feigning a somewhat rollicking 
tone. ‘‘ Come along. 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 7 

He took Baretti^s arm and they walked westward to- 
gether, not saying much by the way. The Italian was 
thankful for the gathering darkness, being conscious that 
his companion's splendor made his own dismal aspect far 
more noticeable than before. The young Englishman was 
in his glory, for here was genius out at elbows and 
altogether down upon its luck, and he the happy deliverer 
of it, and the man appointed by fate to set it on its feet 
again and establish its goings. There was no better-heart- 
ed youngster in London than Tom Carroll; and if he 
exulted a little at the chance of doing such a service, he 
was none the less sorry for the other^s misfortunes, what- 
ever they might turn out to be. His heart warmed over 
Baretti as they walked along together, and he felt more 
friendly to him than he had ever done before. To be five 
and-twenty, and to have a good heart, and a full purse, 
and a friend in need of you — is there a better way to hap- 
piness? 

When the pair came to No. 20 Montague Gardens, Tom 
Carroll admitted himself by a latch-key, and led the way 
upstairs into a comfortably furnished apartment, where 
shaded lamps and handsome curtains gave things a well- 
to-do and home-like look. 

‘^Sit down, Baretti,^^ said Tom, pushing the other 
gently by the shoulders. Baretti^ s lips were trembling 
more and more, and his eyes were so dim that he dared not 
raise them to Tom^s face. So bad as that, old chap?^^ 
said the youngster, gently. 

Suddenly, to CarrolTs terror and amazement, the little 
man wrenched himself free, and throwing himself upon 
his knees beside an arm-chair, burst into hysteric tears and 
sobs. The Englishman stood awkwardly in the middle of 
the room, not knowing what to do or say in such a case, 
and, therefore — ^being wise without knowing it — doing and 
saying nothing. In a while Baretti composed himself, and, 
still kneeling there, began to wipe his eyes with a woful 
handkerchief. The host recovered himself a little, and 
bustled about noisily in the next room, lighting candles on 
the mantel-shelf and dressing-table. 

Here, I say, Baretti,^^ he called, when the sobs had all 
ceased, youTl want a wash before dinner. Fm going 
down to order dinner now, and if you want anything Fve 
put out a lot of things on the bed.'’^ 


8 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


Then he withdrew by another door, and whistled osten- 
tatiously on tl^e landing to show that he was outside. This 
young man was a Briton, though an artist, and tears would 
have seemed a shame to him under any sort of circum- 
stances. When Baretti had first broken out crying, Tom 
would have been glad for the fioor to open, and he sujiered 
acutely from a refiex shame. Half an hour had gone by 
before he returned to the room, and then Baretti was 
standing before the fire-place, not altogether at his ease, 
but clean and clean-shaven, and in white linen, and look- 
ing vastly improved all over. Under these altered circum- 
stances he was a handsome little man. His eyes were full 
of feeling and intelligence, and as beautifully soft and 
bright as a dog'^s ; his coal-black hair tumbled picturesquely 
about his head in handsome, disorderly profusion; his hands 
were white and shapely, his figure was well set, and his 
face well-featured and attractive. 

Dinner^s coming up in a minute, Baretti, said Tom, 
for the mere sake of saying something. 

Carroll!^^ said the artist, stretching out both hands to 

him. 

What is it?^^ asked Tom, taking them in his own. 

Youh*e in trouble of some sort. Tell me what it is. If 
I can help you, ITl do it. Now, what is it?^^ 

A tap at the door announced the advent of the maid, 
^nd the young Englishman dropped his friend^ s hands in 
^ome embarrassment. 

You shall tell me after dinner,^^ he said, when the girl 
had retired; she will be interrupting us every minute un- 
til then.^^ 

The Italian assenting, the two sat down in silence. 
Dinner was served, and the guest attacked his soup like a 
man who meant business; but pushed the fish away scarce 
tasted, and recoiled from the tempting cutlet Which fol- 
lowed. 

‘‘ No appetite?^^ said Tom. 

“ Too much,'’^ returned Baretti> with a poor attempt at 
a laugh. Tom nodded gravely, with a sympathetic glance 
at his guest, and on the girTs next appearance bade her 
clear away. 

Now, what is it?^^ asked the Englishman, when they 
were secure against further interruption. The manner of 
the question was frank, candid and engaging, and express- 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


9 


ive of a hearty wish to be of service. What is it? Tell 
me as much as you can, and let us see what we can do. 
. What is it?^^ 

^^lam broken,^ ^ said Baretti, with a tremulous lip — 
absolutely and completely broken — without a roof — 
‘ without a shilling — a lost man!^^ 

Without a roof?^^ the other asked, in amazed pity. 

I have lain upon the benches in St. Jameses Park 
these four nights, the little Italian answered. I have- 
eaten nothing until now for four days. 

Tom, with a great show of righteous wrath, began to 
walk up and down the room, and to upbraid his compan- 
ion, using much strong language, with a view to the dis^ 
guise of his own emotion, after the British fashion. 

You thundering little idiot! Hang it all, Baretti! 
Ifot to tell me! You knew where I lived all the time. I 
take it unkindly of you — I take it infernally ill of you, 
Baretti. 

I was broken, urged the little artist, in extenuation. 
I did not know what to do.""^ 

Then, by George, sir,^^ cried Tom, ^^you ought to 
have known! Here have I been going about just as jollily 
as ever, and I feel like a criminal now I know about it. 
You know very well, Baretti,^ ^ with a mightily injured 
look, that I have more money than I know what to do 
with. You know very well that you had only to ask me 
to have whatever you stood in need of. And, by gad ! in- 
stead of coming up like a friend, and giving me the pleas- 
ure of helping you, you slink off and starve in St. Jameses 
Park. I tell you what it is, Baretti, I think it was un~ 
friendly— confoundedly unfriendly. ^ 

I beg your pardon/^ said Baretti, in quaint contrition. 
Tell me all about it,^^ Tom returned, being in a con- 
dition to trust himself by this time. That is — tell me 
what you cam; and what I can 1^11 do.-^^ 

I would have come to you rather than to anybody, 
said the little Italian, with outstretching hands and moist 
eyes; but I was broken at heart, and I did not care — ^no; 
not for anything. 

Tell me,^^ said Tom. 

Did you know the Count Carambola?^^ asked Baretti, 
turning uJ)on his host with sudden vivid passion. 


10 hearts: queeh, khave, akd deuce. 

That hooked-nose, green-skinned ruffian, with the 
black mustache and the bald head?^^ demanded Tom. I 
knew him as well as I wanted to. 

‘‘ We thought him honorable and wealthy,^^ cried 
Baretti, beginning his story with a fiery gesture of disdain. 

‘‘ I didn^/Mnterjected Carroll, dryly. ‘^What about 
him?^^ 

‘‘ I will tell you all about him,^^ said the artist, declaim- 
ing with such gesture as only an Italian uses. The count 
is a villain, a hound, a cur — a personage sunk in the depths 
of infamy. He came to me three months ago, when my 
picture was but newly hung at Burlington House, and he 
Rsked that I would lend him four hundred pounds. I 
laughed. I told him that when I had four hundred 
shillings I looked at myself as at a Eothschild. He also 
laughed. It was but an affair of a week, of a day, 
or two days) three days; but he was unknown here to the 
English bankers. Would I back a bill for him? He knew 
so well no other countryman in London. Would I so far 
assist him? Then when his funds came would I sell him 
my beautiful picture at the Academy? Would I paint 
more beautiful pictures for his Villa della Luna? Will you 
believe me, I was so much a fool that I believed him? 
Grand Dio, Carroll! I believed him. Whom the gods 
w^ould destroy they first make mad; and I believed him. 
But when he came to the money-lender, he did not care for 
my name. He would have a bill of sale. That was the 
name. Do you know it? No. A bill of sale upon the 
poor little things in my studio, and a claim upon my pict- 
ure at Burlington House. I agreed to everything gladly. 
The count had the money, and in a week I missed him. 
Then comes one friend and another. ^ My dear Baretti,^ 
they say, ‘ is it true that you have helped the count? He 
is gone; he is fiown; he owes everybody money; he does 
always so; he is an adventurer professed. 

I could have told you that much at the first and only 
sight of his ugly face I ever had,^^ said Tom. 

“ Under a blow so crushing, resumed Baretti, what 
do I do? I sit still in my studio, deserted of my fancies. 
I try to paint. I have forgotten that a black and a white 
make gray. I am helpless. By and by — about a month 
ago — the money-lender '’s people come, and sell everything. 
My picture sells at the Academy, and they take the money 


hearts: QUEEI^-, kkaye^ and deuce. 11 

for it. There is over and above a little handful of shillings^ 
and that they give me. That goes, and I am a lost man. 

He ended with quivering lips, moved anew by the narra- 
tion of his own wrongs and sufferings, and dropped deject- 
edly in an arm-chair that stood near. 

And, of course,^^ said Tom, ^^youVe never heard of 
the count again 

The little artist sat like a statue of despondency, with 
nose and knees together, and his arms hanging helplessly 
at his side; but at this query he sprung to his feet, and 
answered with wild gesticulation! 

The count? He is flown to his own Phlegethon!^^ 

Best place for him,^'’ said Tom, quietly. Let him 
stop there ^ 

Willingly,^ ^ answered Baretti, with a bitter laugh, and 
dropped back into the arm-chair. 

Cheer up, old fellow,^^ said Carroll, patting him on 
the shoulder. Ik's all over now. There^s a stunning 
north light to the room overhead, and it will make a capi- 
tal studio. I know it isnT engaged, and ITl just run down- 
stairs and take it now. The bedroom at the back is 
thoroughly comfortable, and the place will suit you to a 
hair. WeTl lay in whatever you want to-morrow; and 
youTl soon And out again that black and white are not the 
only things to make a gray. You don^’t mind staying alone 
for flve minutes? Cigars and wine,^^ pushing a box and a 
decanter forward on the table. Make yourself comfort- 
able. Back in flve minutes. 

There was a glow in Tom^s heart as he ran down-stairs 
to chaffer with the landlady about a set of rooms for 
Baretti. He approved of himself, and felt that he was a 
good sort of fellow. By and by he returned beaming. 

I\e taken the rooms, Baretti. Come and have a look 
at them.""^ 

The artist arose and followed him upstairs, moving like 
a man in a dream. Tom chattered gayly,. pointing out the 
loftiness of the windows, and showing how the light could 
be arranged by moving the shutters, which had been cut 
across, by order of some former occupant, an artist. Next 
he marched Baretti into the bedroom, and dwelt at length 
upon its advantages, talking rather at random, lest the 
Italian should thank him. 

And now,^^ he said, on regaining his own rooms. 


12 HEAKTS: QUEEIT, KNAVE^ AND DEUCE. 

you^ll want money for your purchases to-morrow. It 
will be better not to run into debt to begin with. Suppose 
I give you a check at once?^^ He sat down to write it out, 
still chattering the while. A ring was heard, and shortly 
afterward a tap sounded on the room door. Come in/^ 
cried Tom, slipping his check-book into a drawer. 

“ Mr. Mark, sir,^^ said the maid, opening the door, and 
she retiring, the personage announced as Mr. Mark 
entered. He was not unlike the regular occupant of the 
room at first sight, but a second glance showed so many 
differences that it began to be surprising that any likeness 
had appeared between them. The most marked of these 
differences was in expression. Tom^s face was full of light 
and gayety. He looked frankly at all men, with a not un- 
pleasing confidence in their approval of him, and pretty 

f enerally with a full approval in his own eyes. He was 
ut a youngster yet, and was unaffectedly fond of people. 
He liked almost everybody; and that cheerful mood of 
mind was written on liis good-looking countenance in let- 
ters of brightness. His visitor, though, a handsomer man 
than Tom, had his personal beauties strongly discounted 
by an unprepossessing look of suspicion and dislike. It 
was likely, you might have thought, that he had but a poor 
opinion of men and women at large — possibly a poor opin- 
ion of himself in some directions. 

How are you?^^ cried Tom, heartily, rising to meet 
him. I didn'^t know you were in town. This is my 
friend Baretti, Mark. I dare say you remember his pict- 
ure at the Academy this year. This is my cousin Mark, 
Baretti — Mark Carroll. 

Cousin Markus glance took in the broken boots, the 
frayed shabbiness of the velvet coat — every sign of poverty 
the artisk’s dilapidated dress displayed. He bowed stiffly, 
and Baretti answered with a sense of discomfort and 
shame-facedness. 

I wouldnT have come to-night, said Mark> had I 
known you were engaged. Shall you be in at twelve to- 
morrow 

Yes,^^ said Tom. Anything particular?^^ 

“ Rather particular, answered Mark. 

‘‘ Baretti will excuse us,^^ said Tom, brightly. Come 
into the bedroom. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK:, KNAYE^ AND DEUCE. 13 

The little artist bowed frigidly as the new-comer passed 
him. Mark disregarded the salute. 

I^m in something of a hole, Tom/^ he said, closing 
the bedroom door behind him. I want fifty pounds. 
Can you let me have it?^'’ 

When do you want it?^^ Tom inquired. 

To-morrow. 

To-morrow Tom echoed, with a rather dismal face. 

I^m a little — He cleared in a second. Make it 
three instead of twelve, and ITl have it ready for you.^^ 

All right,^^ said Cousin Mark, a little ungraciously. 

I^’ll be here. I say, who^s that fellow?''^ He nodded 
backward toward the sitting-room. 

YouVe heard of Baretti,^ said Tom. Rising artist. 
One of the most promising young painters in London. 

One would guess as much to look at him,^"" said Mark, 
with a smile. His smile was less agreeable than his habit- 
ual expression, and when that is the case it generally augurs 
ill of a man. 

Oh,""^ said Tom, deceptively, that sort of man is 
often careless about appearances. 

I suppose, said Mark, he^s on my errand. Came 
to borrow money, didn^t he?^^ 

I asked him here to dinner,^^ Tom answered. He^s 
a capital fellow — one of the best fellows in the world. 

^ ^ Everybody is ^ one of the best fellows in the world ^ 
with you,'’^ said Mark, smiling again. I am one of the 
best fellows in the world myself^ 

Why, so you are,^'’ Tom answered, laughing; I am 
another. Come in and have a talk with Baretti. You ^11 
find him a charming fellow, I assure you. 

No/’ said Mark; won^t stay to-night. At three 
to-morrow. Good-night. ^ 

The two young men came back into the sitting-room, 
and shook hands. Baretti^ s head had dropped forward as 
he sat in a big arm-chair near the fire, and his regular 
breathing betrayed the fact that he had fallen asleep. Tom 
laid a hand upon his shoulder to awake him, and the art- 
ist, sleepily opening his eyes, stared at him for a second or 
two without recognition, and rising, took two or three 
steps forward before he was fairly awake. 

I beg your pardon, he stammered; I am over- 
fatigued. 


14 hearts: KHAVE^ Al^D DEUCE. 

Mark nodded with his own smile^ and gently pulled Tom 
from the room. 

Has that rising artist/^ he whispered behind his hand^ 
as they paused upon the landing — has that rising artist 
ever obeyed the policeman^ s ^ Move on, there He looked 
rather like it. 

^‘Poohr^ said Tom, in a disconcerted way. Three 
o^ clock to-morrow. Good-night, Mark.-’^ 

I am ashamed to have fallen asleep, said Baretti, 
when his host re-entered the room; but I am very tired. ^ 

Of course you are,'^^ said Tom, reopening the drawer 
in which he had placed the check. That,^'’ he went on, 
pushing the paper into Baretti^ s hand, will set you going 
again, and leave you a little margin.''^ 

The broken artist looked from the check to Tom, from 
Tom to the check, like one amazed: and before the En- 
glishman knew it, the Italian was at his feet, clasping both 
his hands, and pouring out an incoherent torrent of 
thanksgiving. 

Nonsense, man!^^ cried Tom, half angrily. Get up, 
and donT make a fool of yourself. You would have done 
as much for me if the cases had been reversed. 

No,^^ cried the painter, springing to his feet and con- 
fronting his benefactor with outstretched hands and flash- 
ing eyes, I would not have done so much for you. But 
now — Am I a flend to say that I should like to see 3^ou 
in misery, in want, in disgrace, in despair, that I might 
die to comfort you?^^ 

Bosh!^^ said the young Briton, with an air of shame. 

I^m not going to fall into disgrace and misery to oblige 
anybody. If you do want to oblige me, Baretti, you can 
do it easily. 

How?^^ cried the little man, with a fiery gesture of in- 
terrogation, as if he would have rent his friend to pieces. 

Tell me. 

Forget the count, and set to work again. 

‘ ‘ I shall find my chance, said Baretti, with an aspect 
of almost tragic gloom. You will want me some day. 

I shall not die until I have repaid you."^^ 

Why, man alive,^^ said Carroll, with feigned impa- 
tience, ‘‘ youVe only to set to work to be able to pay me in 
a month. 

‘‘ To pay you what?^^ demanded the little man. The 


hearts: queeh^ ke'ave^ ae'D deuce. 


15 


handful of money that you lend me? Yes. But the hope 
you gave me when I despaired? The faith I had lost in 
human nature? The life I should have thrown away to- 
night?^ ^ 

You never meant that, Baretti?^^ Tom demanded 
gravely. The painter^’s eyes fell, and his head drooped 
forward. 

Yes,^^ he said, stonily; ‘'I meant it. And only for 
you,^^ he cried, with new fire in his eyes and his voice, I 
should have done it. Carroll, I am yours — ^yoiir friend, 
your brother, your servant, your slave. 

All right, old man,^^ said Carroll, shaking hands with ' • 
him. Say no more about it.'^^ 

“ Good,""^ said Baretti. I will say no more. But it is 
true, and I mean it.^^ 

It was good acting if he did not mean it. His eyes . 
gleamed like black fire, and his lips quivered. When the 
two had .parted, Tom refiected on the events of the night, 
and said to himself, not without satisfaction — 

I ought to have made a friend. i 


CHAPTER II. 

There is a school of philosophers according to w^hose 
tenets it is easy to be philosophical. The aspirant to wis- 
dom learns that there is little to be done but to set the 
basest construction on all human motives, and to believe and 
prophesy the worst in regard to all human actions. This 
royal road to philosophy has been pursued by notable 
people, and the man who travels by it is sure of certain 
obvious advantages. The clock that stands still tells the 
truth twice a day, and the mental attitude which never 
varies will find itself justified upon occasion. It is an 
axiom with the acrid school that if you do a man a service 
he will hate you; and, like many other axioms of many 
other schools it is true in some cases and false in others. 

A man who takes another out of the streets of London 
and shelters him; who takes him out of despair and brings 
him home to hope again; who takes him from the dread of 
an ignominious finish to life, and gives him new chances of 
fame and fortune, does what few men have a chance to do, 
and may fairly be said to have deserved gratitude. Tom 


16 HEAKTS: QUEEN^^ KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 

had done an undoubted good turn to Baretti^, but he had 
not looked for so volcanic a thanksgiving as the little man 
offered in return. Gratitude was not a sentiment, but a 
passion with this hot little Italian. His benefactor filled 
his thoughts as a* dearly beloved mistress might have done. 
He deified him as young men in love deify their sweet- 
hearts. Tom Carroll was the noblest, the most generous, 
the handsomest, and the ablest man in the world to 
Antonio Baretti. For weeks after the artist's recovery 
from despair there were minutes when he laid down his. 
brushes because he could not see his canvas for the moist- 
ure in his eyes, as he thought of the magnificent tender 
goodness of his best of friends and patrons. 

My Lord Bellamy — a neighbor of Thomas Carroll the 
elder, in the countiy — had given Baretti a commission (of 
course through Tom^s intercession), and Baretti was hard 
at work on a canvas measuring six feet by four, painting 
with prodigious ardor to the incessant sound of Tom^s vio- 
lin which came soaring from the room below. Thin cas- 
cades of scales, sonorous cascades of scales, sometimes a 
tune which made Baretti long to dance, and sometimes a 
plaintive air, which made the emotional little fellow long 
to cry — these sounds arose almost continually, for some six 
or seven hours a day. 

‘‘ Be witness for me,^^ the youngster would sometimes 
say to Baretti, quoting Mrs. Browning — 

“ Be witness for me — with no amateur’s 
Irreverent haste and busy idleness 
1 wrought for art.” 

And then, being newly inspired, he would go back to his 
fiddling and saw sparks of light and laughter, or long 
sweet sighs of musical anguish, from the fiddle-strings. 

You may believe that these were happy days for the re- 
habilitated artist. Such halcyon visions of fame as ardent 
young painters have were with him often, and were always 
sweetened by his gratitude and his resolve to show it and 
prove it to the world at large. He had promises within 
him of such a brotherhood in art as the world had never 
seen. Carroll could afford to work and wait for poor art^s 
sake, and would be hailed some day as a great composer 
and the king of fiddlers, and Baretti himself was going ta 
vault straightway into fame by the painting of this one 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 17 

picture. And when they were both great men, and the 
painter was in the very ripeness and zenith of his day, he 
would go down to Tom^s country mansion and enrich its 
walls as mortal walls were never enriched before, with 
color and sweet form. And they would be friends forever^ 
with no possibility of a wrinkle on the face of the young 
cherub of friendship who smiled so dearly now. A good 
little fellow, with a fine exaggerative heart and tempera- 
ment, chockful of gratitude, and love, and hope, and an 
ambition nine tenths unselfish. 

Master Tom, though not quite the paragon his southern 
protege believed him, was worthier of this unstinted ad- 
miration than often happens, and being himself of a gener- 
ous, open nature, and having done the Italian so brotherly 
a turn, he was of course immensely fond of him, and inter- 
ested in his successes. So these two lads of five-and-twenty 
loved and admired each other loyally — the one with a shy 
sentiment and a purposely roughened outside to it, and the 
other with a downright openness of declaration which em- 
barrassed while it pleased. The artistic enthusiasm of the 
one spurred that of the other, and they slaved away with 
ardor at their respective pursuits. Tom saw much less of 
the fashionable world in these days than he had been used 
to see, and with the constant labor to which he gave him- 
self, made real progress in his difficult art. 

Cousin Mark was a frequent visitor at Tom^s chambers, 
where he smoked Tom^s havanas and drank Tonies claret, 
whilst he listened with his own cynical grin to Bajetti'^s 
encomiums on Tom and Tomb’s encomiums on Baretti. 
The painter was not merely rescued from seediness of ap- 
parel, but being provided with the wherewithal by his 
moneyed friend, had blossomed into outrageous sartorial 
gayeties which somehow seemed to suit him. Tom had 
lent him in all a hundred and fifty pounds, and since 
Baretti was to receive three hundred for his picture, he 
bore the burden of the money debt with patience. He 
wore a velvet sack to paint in, and was generally to be seen 
in-doors in a gorgeous smoking-cap, and slippers in the 
hues of sunrise dyed. Certain valuable meerschaum pipes, 
confided to the care of mine uncle (to whose doors the art- 
ist had found the mournful road a month before) were in 
his own possession again, and one of these always gave a 
fitting finish to the picture he presented. 


18 HEAKTS: QUEEK^ Kl^AYE, AND DEUCE. 

Cousin Mark was not burdened with more money than 
he knew what to do with. His uncle — Thomas Carroll 
the elder — was not disposed to be over and above libera^ 
-and Markus profession of barrister was so far absolutely 
unremunerative to him. Cousin Tom, on the contrary, had 
plenty of money, having inherited a few loose thousands ‘ 
from his mother, and being in receipt of a comfortable 
additional allowance from his father. TonTs position from 
Markus point of view was enviable. 

There are two or three sorts of envy, only one of the 
kinds being criminal. But — not to beat about the bush — 
Cousin Markus envy of Tom Carroll had a little of the 
criminal tinge in it. Mark had carefully trained himself 
into the belief that human goodness was a sham, and that 
nothing was done by anybody without an eye to the quid 
pro quo. Uncle Thomas gave him an allowance. Good. 
He flattered Uncle Thomas, and believed himself expected 
to do so. Cousin Tom was ridiculously generous. Well, 
money was cheap with Cousin Tom, and to the absurd 
order of mind, it was worth money to be called a good fel- 
low, and to surround one^s self with sycophants. Mark 
begged from the father and borrowed from the son, and 
was properly sycophantic, with an undercurrent of cynical 
humor in his service, and an affectation of manly bluntness 
which more than redeemed him in his own eyes. 

ISFow Mark had a mania for getting at the bottom of 
things, and from the first hour when he had seen his cousin 
and Baretti together their connection had puzzled him a 
little. Calling one evening he found Baretti alone and, 
quite unnecessarily, began to pump him. 

It^s rather odd. Signor Baretti, said Mark, that . 
you and I should never have met until a fortnight ago, 
since Tom and you are such friends. 

Ah!^'’ said the Italian, with a bright and tender smile. 

We are old acquaintances, but the friendship is a new 
one. The friendship began the night you first met me ^ 
here. 

And eager to exalt his idol, the painter began to tell the 
story. He related with profuse Italian action the history 
of the count^s wickedness, and he portrayed his own miseiy 
and despair. He acted the part of Tom Carroll in the . 
Strand, the compassionate, the ge.nerous, the good; he 
enacted his own part at that memorable interview also. 


hearts: queeh, khaye^ and deuce. 


19 


sparing in liis description no breach in his boots or tinge of 
yellow on his frayed shirt-collar. He brought his hero and 
himself into the very room in which he told the moving 
story. He cast himself anew upon his knees and buried 
his head in the -arm-chair in illustration of his own aban- 
donment to sorrow. He sprung to his feet and spoke out 
of his chest in imitation of the admirable rescuer ^s cheery 
manner. There were tears in his lambent soft eyes as he 
lauded his preserver and swore fidelity to him. 

London is pretty thickly provided with human contrasts^ 
but it would not have been easy to find two young fellows 
wider apart in thought and feeling in all London ^s limits 
than the man who told and the man who heard this story. 
Mark listened with interest^ and was even not without ad- 
miration. He admitted that — in the Italian style of art — 
Baretti^s was a very fine performance. He thought that 
he had never seen the C3rQic^s definition of gratitude so well 
illustrated. To say that he doubted the genuineness of 
Baretti^s protestations would be to do Mark an injustice. 
He was certain in his own mind that the little man was a 
liar and a pretender — like other people. Ouly^ he lied and 
pretended better than the rich, being an artist and having 
command over what were called the emotions. 

To Baretti^s affectionate soul such an injustice as Mark 
did him would have seemed impossible, even if he could 
have been brought to understand the mental condition 
which created it. Not to have been . grateful would have 
been prodigious, and all his southern soul was given to his. 
preserver. 

Where the carcass is,^^ said Mark to himself, there 
will the vultures be gathered together. If there were 
plenty. for both I suppose no two would waste time in peck- 
ing at each other. But this Italian vulture is a big-beaked 
fellow — a fellow with an appetite. A hundred and fifty is 
a good-sized first mouthful; and a mere fiap of the wings 
wonH scare that harpy. I must dig him in the ribs, and 
pretty keenly. The British bird 'was only just in time, a 
fortnight ago, to secure a morsel one tliird the size of the 
foreign bird^s mouthful. 

Whilst he entertained these refiections Mark was pleas- 
antly conscious of his own cynical humor and his own 
cynical candor. Curious, how if you show any man his 
face in the glass, he is not displeased with it. Execrable 


20 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


singers chant for their own amusement, and like their own 
voices. It is conceivable that the skunk esteems his own 
odor highly, and would have a poor opinion of eau-de- 
Cologne. And, quite as a matter of course. Cousin Mark 
thought his own mental attitude admirable. If he had the 
penetration to see through Baretti^'s humbug, he had also 
the honesty to admit the truth about himself. And it 
would not be true of him to say that he began to hate the 
little painter. Active sentiments of any kind did not come 
to him easily, and life, though a warfare, was to be gone 
through with no more passion than was necessary. There 
are men who would skewer you if you could not otherwise 
be got out of their way, and if it were safe to do it, without 
mercy, and without rage — just at the bidding of a cold 
hunger for your share of things — and Mark Carroll was of 
them. 

It is one of the vulgarest errors in the world that men 
are unhappy in proportion to the narrowness of their sym- 
pathies. The garroter^s conscience is the cat^o^ -nine- tails. 

When Mark came to look at it fairly and squarely, he 
saw how difficult, if not impossible, it would be to separate 
the two friends. He tested Tom and found him full of the 
most ridiculous belief in the genuineness of Baretti. Mark 
did not doubt that Tom laid the flattering unction to his 
own soul in all sincerity. 

‘‘My cousin Tom,^"' said Mark to himself, “is fool 
enough for anything. ^ 

But in due time Baretti ^s picture was flnished and paid 
for, and before its transfer to my Lord Bellamy's country 
seat, was on view at one of the Pall Mall galleries. It 
made some noise in the world of art and brought a com- 
mission or two. 

On the day on which Baretti received his check it hap- 
pened that Mark and Tom sat together in the latter^s 
room. Enter the painter in his dark purple velvet, his 
smoking-cap and slippers — a perfect study in color. 

“ Good-day, Mr. Mark Carroll,^'’ cried the little man, ^ 
with a beaming countenance. “ Good-day, Mr. Tom Car- 
roll. He fluttered the fortunate piece of paper in one 
hand and executed a fantastic seid, “ That,^'’ he said, 
clapping the document on the table and bringing down 
both palms upon it resonantly, “ is the check of my Lord ► 
Bellamy for three hundred sterling pounds. Aha! it is 


HEAKTS: QUEEi^, KNAVE, AND DEUCE; 


21 


addressed to Antonio Baretti, Esquire, and Antonio 
Baretti, Esquire, has written his famous name of European 
celebrity upon the back of it. Observe, Mr. Mark Car- 
roll, until the famous name was written upon its back that 
document was without value. By inscribing the famous 
name I create three hundred sterling English pounds. I 
venerate myself like a cashier of the Bank of England. 
More. I pay my debts, and I kiss the hands of the b^est of 
men, my preserver. 

Before Tom had guessed what he was about, the painter 
was actually on his knees putting his words into action. 
The young Englishman blushed, and upset his chair in his 
haste to be out of gratitude^s way. Mark looked on, smil- 
ing, with a smile that characterized the pair. 

Humbug and idiot said Markus smile. Though Tom 
had run out of Baretti^s way he looked at the little painter 
with gratified affection, plainly to be read through all his 
embarrassment. And in the fiery Italian's dark eyes there 
was a visible moisture. 

You be blowed!^^ said Tom, making a feeble shot at 
humor, and trying lamely to disguise his own pleasure. 

Who asked you for the money 

Not you,^^ said Baretti, with a happy and affectionate 
laugh. Not you by a word or a look. He lends,^^ he 
cried, turning to Mark, with the magnificence of Maece- 
nas, and he waits for repa^^ment like patience upon a 
pedestal.-^'’ 

He does,^"^ cried Mark, his smile expanding. If he 
can^t see through this,^^ thought Mark, the beggar^ s too 
blear-eyed to see through anything. 

Eubbish,^^ said Tom. Fm very glad you have the 
money, Baretti, very glad. Pay me when you like. 

1 like to pay you now,^'’ said Baretti. Not — believe 
me! — not that it is a burden to owe you money (Mark 
grinned outright at this touch of artiful simplicity) — but 
because it is yet the greatest pleasure I have ever known. 
Tom looked at Mark, and Baretti caught the glance. 

Your cousin,'’^ he cried, is no stranger to this business. 
He knows what you lent me, and why you lent it.""^ Tom 
looked at him with reproach in his eyes. I could not 
help telling him,^^ said the artist beseechingly. 

I ought to have told you, Tom, how affectionately Mr. 
Baretti spoke of you,^^ said Mark, with commendable 


22 HEARTS; QUEEN^ Kl^AYE^, AKD DEUCE. 

gravity. The acting on both sides was really diverting ta 
Mark, who believed in Tom^s annoyance just as much as 
in Baretti^s gratitude. 

Eubbish/^ said Tom^ again. 

Sit down^ Carroll/^ cried Baretti, and write me a 
check for one hundred and fifty pounds. 

Tom, with a little air of lingering unwillingness, 
obeyed, and Baretti, having acquitted his debt, executed a 
second fantastic pas seuh 

Will they take so small a sum as this at the bank?^^ 
he demanded by and by. Then let us go and put it in 
straightway. Come. I will make myself fit for out-of- 
doors in a minute. 

He darted away, returning presently attired in a velvet 
shooting-coat and a wideawake hat, and drawing on, with 
loving care and precision, a pair of lavender-colored kid 
gloves. He wore white gaiters over his little patent leath- 
ered toes, and carried a natty little cane-stick under his 
arm. 

Mark, having no espeical business on his hands, accom- 
panied Baretti and his cousin. Before they had gone a 
hundred yai^ds, they saw, in a quiet street opening olE 
Mantague Gardens, two people walking placidly toward 
them. The one was a stoutish, broad-shouldered young 
man, with a swarthy fat face,^beady eyes, and a jetty mus- 
tache. On cheeks and chin he was blue with close shav- 
ing, and it was a hundred pounds to a penny, at first 
sight, that he was an operatic tenor and an Italian. The 
other was a gloriously caparisoned young woman, a pro- 
nounced brunette, with large, languishing black eyes, and 
extremely ripe, red lips, and a languishing gait, which was 
yet elastic. Her figure was inclined, but only inclined, to 
embonpoint, and Mark, who thought himself something of 
a connoisseur in female beauty, pronounced her a fine 
woman on the spot. Baretti beholding the approaching 
pair, who walked arm in arm with a tender leaning toward 
each other, broke away from his companions and made a 
dash at the swarthy fat man, whom he hailed in voluble 
Italian and kissed vehemently on both cheeks, standing on 
tiptoe to do it. Next, with much ceremony, he saluted the 
lady, and the swarthy man was heard to murmur, 

‘‘ Signora Malfi.^"" 

This,^^ said Baretti, turning to Tom and Mark, is 


HEAETS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


23 


my famous countryman — ^like myself, of Naples — Signor 
Malfi. II Maestro Thomas Carroll,^ ^ addressing the 
Italian. 

Rubbish,^^ said Tom, for the third time that morning, 
but he bowed to the swarthy Italian and the radiant young 
woman, whilst Baretti introduced Cousin Mark. Cousin 
Mark, finding that the stranger^ s stock of English was ex- 
tremely limited, addressed him in Italian (of which tongue 
he was complete master), thanking him, with many 
courteous fiourishes, for the delights which he (the swarthy, 
fat man) had given Mark at Milan, and Naples, and in 
London. Signor Malfi took all this like a man who was 
used to it, but he was nevertheless pleased to find an En- 
glishman to whom it was no trouble to talk, and he set out 
at once in the open street with a vivacious history of the 
villainies of one Corditi, a miserable wretch who presumed 
to consider himself a rival. All this was Italian to Tom, 
who was relieved when he saw Baretti shaking hands with 
the tenor and preparing to leave him. But there was still 
a little delay. The wickednesses of the rival tenor had 
made some explanations necessary to a provincial theatrical 
manager then in town, and Signor Malfi begged Baretti to 
accompany him and translate. 

^‘Signor Baretti,^ ^ said Mark, in the operatic tenor^s 
own tongue, is a busy man just now, and I am an idle 
one. I am entirely at your service. 

You of the family of Carroll,^^ said the painter, are 
all alike. Generous and obliging to a fault. 

Mark smiled in answer. The Signora Malfi was a sin- 
gularly fine woman, and Mark had nothing to do. And, 
besides, the briefless barrister was one of those people who 
always find it worth while to know theatric and operatic 
people. One got stalls in that way at times, and to a man 
who is bound to be seen in the world, and who has no great 
resources of his own, that sort of thing is worth angling 
for. The singer was not unwilling to accept Markus good 
offices, and Mark insisted on proffering them, with almost 
overwhelming politeness. So it befell that Baretti and 
Tom went one way, whilst Mark and his new acquaintances 
went another in pursuit of the theatrical manager. The 
signora^ s face and figure, and the signora^ s conversation 
had so many attractions for Mark that, when the manager 
had been visited and the singer ^s honor — on which he ap 


24 hearts: queeh, k^stave, akd deuce. 

peared to set some value — had been cleared, he consented 
to dine with his obliged friends, and accompanied them to a 
restaurant in Princess Street, where garlic was the staple 
of half the dishes, and the cliianti was excellent. 

Here were other gentlemen with stoutish, broad-shoul- 
dered figures, swarthy fat faces, heavy eyes and jetty mus- 
taches, who were also blue with close shaving on cheeks 
and chin. With most of these Signor Malfi was on easy 
terms, and they shouted at each other from their different 
parts of the room, and gesticulated at each other with 
amiable ferocity across the little oblong tables on which the 
fneal was served. The signora was the only person of the 
gentler sex there present, and Mark observed an absence 
of restraint in conversation which argued the lady of an in- 
dulgent turn. 

After dinner the company drank coffee, clustered at one 
table, and smoked cigars, called Virginian, priced at two- 
pence and measuring nine inches in length, and finally 
three or four of the swarthy, fat men started with Signor 
Malfi and the lady for their apartments, Mark keeping 
their company still. All the men pausing in the middle of 
Wardour Street to shout together, in the absurd belief that 
they were discussing something. Mark politely offered his 
arm to the signora, and at an easy pace walked on. 


CHAPTER III. 

Thomas Carroll the elder was a justice of the peace,, 
and chairman of the guardians of the poor. He owned 
half a village and some two thousand acres of land in a. 
Mid-England county. 

To be a land-owner is not, of itself, to be uncommon. 
A justice of the peace is not necessarily higher than the 
angels. There are chairmen of boards of guardians, even^ 
who will never set the Thames on fire. But to be Thomas 
Carroll was, in the very nature of things, to be a remarka- 
ble man. 

When people differed from Mr. Carroll, as they some- 
times did, he displayed surprise and pity. In politics he 
was a Tory, and it was a habit of his to say that he could 
only conceive of an opponent as a fool or a knave. In 
either case he knew how to tolerate. A large nature is al- 
ways lenient. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAYE, AND DEUCE. 


25 


To have bought him at his own price and sold him in 
open market would have broken the Bank of England. In 
his alfable way he condescended to everybody, and was 
mightily proud of having so little pride. As befitted his 
sense of his own majesty he was tall and jDortly. He was 
bald to the crown, and he came out in phok)graphs as a ^ 
man with a lofty forehead. His iron-gray hair was crisp 
and curled, his cheeks were rosy, his hands were large and 
very plump and white. In dress he was a trifie old-fash- 
ioned, and he wore but one jewel, a big rose-diamond 
which gave opportunities for the display of his handsome 
fingers. 

Trench House, his residence, dominated Overhill and 
looked down upon it from a turfy, well-timbered slope 
which faced southward — a big, squat building in mellow 
red brick, not very picturesque, but looking home-like and 
dignified in the midst of its trees and lawns and gardens. 
Within easy view of its front windows there stood (and for 
that matter still stands) a gray old farm-house, which was 
tenanted by a yeoman whose forebears had once owned the 
land about it. These people had fallen bit by bit from 
their prosperous estate, and had parted bit by bit with 
their possessions, and now for a generation or two they 
had farmed the land more or less unsuccessfully. One 
Michael Moore, the first of the family of whom any record 
had been kept, had been an Ironside. His sword and his 
iron head-pot were preserved in a high state of polish and 
glitter above the mantel-shelf. One George Moore had 
served two years in the county jail as a physical-force 
Chartist, and his memory was also cherished. The existent 
Michael Moore was proud of these bright spots in the fam- 
ily head-roll and was an uncompromising Eadical. In 
the struggle for the repeal of the corn laws the existent 
Michael had made his name a stench in the nostrils of sup- 
porters of the agricultural interest, and had been looked 
upon as an Achan in the agricultural camj). He had had 
painted across the front of the farm-house (so that his Tory 
landlord might read the legend whenever he looked out of 
window) peace, retrenchment and reform,^^ and the let- 
ters were dimly traceable even now. Perhaps if Michael 
had devoted himself to farming with tlie ardor he threw 
into politics he might have prospered. 

On a certain misty autumn afternoon, Mr. Carroll, 


26 hearts: quee2^, khaye^ and deuce. 

mounted on a handsome hack^ jogged comfortably along 
the road which led from Trench House to the farm, and 
sighted a little crowd about the building. Remembering 
suddenly the occasion of this gathering, he would fain have 
turned back again, but he knew that he must have been 
observed already, and so held on. The crowd was made up 
of the people of the village, with here and there a stranger, 
and standing in a wagon in front of the house with a table 
before him was a man in a white hat who held forth 
noisily. 

Any advance on twelve ten? Twelve ten! A high- 
class heifer, sire and dam both known! Really, gentle- 
men, really! Thirteen? Thank you, Mr. Jones. Thir- 
teen! Any advance on thirteen ?^^ 

The last link between the Moores and their old home- 
stead was broken, and they were going away. 

As Mr. Carroll, with raised hat in answer to many salu- 
tations from the farm-yard, was jogging by, there came 
from the yard-gate a man with a florid complexion and 
white hair. 

So youVe come to see the last of us, eh, squire? 
YouTl be easier in your mind vhen weVe gone, no doubt. 

^ ^ I am afraid the village will not be sorry to lose you, 
Moore,^^ returned the landlord. ‘‘ But you will have the 
goodness to remember that this is none of my doing. He 
waved his hand toward the yard, from which they were 
hidden by the corner of the building. can but feel 
that I have been forbearing as a landlord, not merely in 
the matter of rent, but in respect also to the farm, which 
has considerably deteriorated in value of late years. 

‘‘ Well, squire,^^ returned the other, youS'e little 
enough to grumble over. As to the rent, you J1 have it to 
the uttermost farthing; and as to the farm, it^s been treat- 
ed better than it deserves. It^s a sour, poor land, and al- 
ways was, and always will be. But I donT want to have 
. any bad blood between you and me. 

My good fellow — began Mr. Carroll, with a tolerant 
wave of his hand, and a smile of tranquil amusement. 

Whatever I\e said again you has been said as a pub- 
lic duty, and not again you as a man,^"" pursued the farmer. 

You do me some injustice, Moore, said Mr. Carroll, 
with his tranquil smile. I donT know what you have 
said; I don^’t care at all what you have said. I am sorry 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


27 


to destroy any dream you may have cherished, but it is a 
fact that you have never troubled me, except by your mis- 
management of the land. 

I know youh’e tough enough in the hide,^^ said the 
farmer, but I thought I might have pricked you once or 
twice. I don^t think youh'e a bad sort at bottam, though 
you^ll find out more than you know about the land when 
you begin to farm it, as Tm told you^re going to. But 
Fm going away, and I want to do it friend-like. F\e got 
nothing again you, squire, barring politics, and Fm not 
u<verse to shaking hands, if so be that you are willing. 

Very well, my good fellow, said the squire, leaning 
downward and proffering two fingers of his right hand. 
The other two were needed to hold the gold-headed riding- 
whip. 

I donT want two fingers, squire, said the out-going 
tenant. I want a liand if I have anything. 

Very well, my good fellow, very well,^^ said Mr. Car- 
roll again, smiling outright this time. I wish you well, 
Moore, and if you desire to give my good wishes effect you 
will drop those foolish political notions of yours and give 
your time and your thoughts to business. A man in your 
station has no business with politics. 

All right, squire,^^ said the farmer. IVe said al- 
ready as you^re not a bad sort at bottom, and Fm glad 
there^s no ill-blood between us. Good-bye.‘^^ 

Shall I see you again?^^ asked Mr. Carroll, with twink- 
ling eyes and his clean-shaven lips twitching. Mr. Carroll 
was fond of musing on the subject of human egotism, and 
Moore^s display tickled him rarely. 

'No/’ said the farmer. Woolley is lawyer as well as 
auctioneer, and he^s got a full list of my debts. He^ll pay 
■^em all; the rent among ^em. So this is good-bye in ear- 
nest. 

Good-bye, Moore, good-bye. And take my advice 
about the politics. 

With that the squire rode away, still calmly amused. It 
was noticeable that most menu’s estimates of Mr. Carroll 
tickled him. Almost everybody, with the exception of 
people of the lowest class, spoke to him as they spoke to 
anybody else. He had frequent cause to smile at human 
insolence, but to have been ruffled by it would have been 
too absurd. He jogged along in a splendid jfiacid content- 


2S hearts: queeh^ khave^ aetd deece. 

ment until the railway-station was in sight. At some ex- 
pense to himself and some inconvenience to the village, he 
had insisted that the railway-line should not approach his 
house too closely. It was a branch line and a small affair, 
which so far paid no dividend, and Mr. Carroll had become 
a large shareholder in it in order to save his property from 
desecration. A train was puffing along, lazily enough, the 
steam ascending on the heavy autumn air in straight col- 
umns and lingering about the fields. At the station-door 
was the solitary fly the village boasted, and standing near, 
apparently giving directions to the driver about a heap of 
luggage, was Thomas Carroll the younger, in company 
with a small man who looked like a foreigner. Mr. Car- 
roll put up his gold-rimmed double eyeglasses to be sure 
of his son^s identity, and rode forward. 

How do you do, Tom? How do you do? I had not 
expected you until to-morrow. 

I said the twenty-second,''^ answered Tom. 

^^And this,^^ said Mr. Carroll, is the twenty-first. I 
had ordered Baker to meet you here with the carriage. The 
same unmethodical Tom as ever."'^ 

‘‘ I wondered nobody was here,^' said Tom with a laugh. 

Father, this is Signor Baretti. • My father, Baretti."^ 

Mr. Carroll bowed in good-humored condescension. 

The — the -artist?^" he asked, putting up the gold- 
rimmed glasses. 

Yes,"^ said Tom. You remember his picture at tlie 
Academy — ‘ A Saturn After his Fall " — with a line from 
Keats, ‘ Deep in the shady sadness of a vale. 

^ Deep in the shady sadness of her veil,^ said Mr. 
Carroll. Of course. I remember distinctly. You are 
welcome to Overhill, Mr. — er — 

Baretti, said Tom. 

‘‘You are welcome to Overhill, Mr. Baretti, said 
Tom^s father, “ and welcome to Trench House. I am 
superior, he added, with a charming smile and a reassur- 
ing move of the right hand, “to the absurd prejudices 
which animate so many members of my own class with re- 
gard to yours. 

Baretti bowed with commendable gravity, but there was 
a twinkle in his handsome Italian eyes which seemed to be- 
speak an inward sentiment of mirth. 


hearts: queek^ kkave, akd deuce. 29 

‘‘ 1 thank you, sir/^ he said breaking silence for the 
first time. 

I am probably right in presuming/"^ said Mr. Carroll, 
■with cheerful affability, that Mr. Baretti is not a native 
of this country? Ah, Signor Baretti! Of course — of 
course! An Italian, Signor Baretti ?^^ 

I am an Italian, sir,^^ returned the painter. 

I know nothing more absurd than national prejudices, 
said Mr. Carroll, genially., An Italian is as v^elcome at 
Trench House, Signor Baretti, as an Englishman. A man 
of large nature is cosmopolitan.^^ 

Baretti bowed again, not feeling called upon to say any- 
thing. Tom hid his embarrassment among the luggage, 
and his father, with an expression of the pleasure it would 
give him to meet Tom^s friend at dinner, rode on again. 

Take these things up to the house, said Tom to the 
driver of the fly. WeTl walk, Baretti. The j)ainter 
cheerfully assenting, they went on together. In a while 
Carroll turned upon his companion with a laugh half shy 
and half sly: Well, Baretti. Isn^t he pretty nearly as 
good as I told you he would be?^^ 

I do not like,^^ said Baretti gravely, that a son 
should speak lightly of a father.'’^ 

No, no,^^ cried the young Englishman, with a blush. 
Ilex's a splendid old fellow, is my governor. I never 
knew a better man. But he is a little pompous. That^s 
his only fault. He^s a trifle pompous. 

He ts a little pompous, Baretti assented with much 
gravity. 

But you mustnH be offended by him,^^ said Tom. 

I shall not be offended by him,^'’ returned Baretti, with 
a look of almost canine affection at his companion. 

I wanted to walk,^^ said Tom, not without something 
of an air of haste to be rid of the subject, so that I might 
show you some of those ready-made pictures I spoke of. 
There. That old farm-house is one of them, though this 
is an unfortunate day for looking at it, because the mist 
shuts out the distance. This is the real point of view, 
over the stile here. It^s a little muddy, but a landscape 
painter in search of subjects won^t mind that, I dare say. 

The landscape painter in search of subjects seemed to 
hang back a little. It was not the mud which made him 
linger, as Tom discovered when he turned. A girl with a 


30 


HEAKTS: QUEEK:, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


graceful figure and attired like a lady came walking in the 
direction of the stile, most unaffectedly crying as she 
walked. 

‘‘ Dear me. Miss Moore, cried Tom, vaulting into the 
field and approaching, hat in hand, you are in distress. 

The girl, in answer to this obvious statement, looked up 
and blushed and started, then paled and looked down again. 

I was saying good-bye to the old place, Mr. Carroll,^'' 
she answered, simply. I didn^t know that any one was 
near.^^ 

Are you going away?^^ asked Tom. ^MVe shall be sorry 
to loseyoju.''^ 

Yes,^^ the girl answered, suppressing a fresh burst of 
tears. Everything was sold to-day, and we leave to- 
night. 

God bless my soul!^^ said Tom, fatuously. 

The farm has not been paying for a long time,^’ the 
girl went on, and father resolved to sell everything and 
go to London. 

To London asked Tom in amazement. What on 
earth is a farmer going to do in London? I beg your pai;- 
don, I didn^t mean to be impertinent. But all this is such 
news to me. 

He means to start a dairy there,^^ the girl explained. 
^^Won^t you go in, Mr. Carroll? He will be glad to see 
you."^ 

She mounted the stile without Tonies assistance, and 
pulling down her veil led the way to the house. Baretti 
had walked on a little, and Tom in passing asked to be ex- 
cused for a minute. The farmer, with an unconcerned, if 
not a very cheerful look, sat by the fireside smoking. The 
room and the walls were absolutely bare, and the chamber 
wore a wretched and dismantled aspect. 

How d^yedo. Mister Thomas?'’^’ said the smoker, ris- 
ing with a hearty greeting. Sit down, sir — sit down. 
There^s nothing but the chimney-settle to sit on, for wehc 
clearing out to-day, but you won^t mind that, I know. 

But what does it all mean ?^^ asked Tom. ‘‘Isn^t it 
very sudden ?^^ 

Sudden said the farmer, with a grim laugh. It 
began in his day.^^ He looked upward to the spot on which 
the Cromwellian soldier^s sword and head-piece had been 
used to hang. He owned the land, and he was the first 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ KNAVE;, AND DEUCE. 31 

that ever raised monej on a foot of it. And, saving your 
presence, we^ve been going to the devil ever since, at greater, 
or lesser speed, and, at last, here we are.'’^ He waved a 
hand to indicate the bare walls and floor, and laughed 
again. But at last. Mister Thomas, Vyg shook that 
four-hundred-acre incubus ofl the family shoulders, and 1 
feel my own man again. The missis takes on at going, 
and so does Azubah, but Vyg done the right thing, and 
though it^s a bit of a wrench, when alBs said, I^m glad 
Bve done it. 

Then there has been no quarrel with my father 
Tom asked. 

Your father?^^ said the farmer, with a much more 
cheerful laugh. I doiiT believe the Old Enemy himself 
could quarrel with your father, sir. He^d no more dream 
of quarreling with me than I should of harboring a deadly 
spite again a mouse. He^s too lofty for it; I put it to him 
this afternoon, scarce an hour ago, ^ There^'s no ill-blood 
betwixt us, squire,'’ says L. Why, I saw him laughing at 
me, at the bare idea of my having the cheek to think I was. 
big enough for him to think about. 

Come, come, Moore,^^ said Tom, in a tone of remon- 
strance. 

Oh, that^s your duty, sir, and Ifll say no more,^^ re- 
turned the farmer. And I^m glad to know you come in 
time to see the last of us. The two houses, so they do say^ 
fowt on different sides in CromwelFs time, but weWe been 
good friends and neighbors since, and I^’m pleased to part 
at peace. Well, sir, here^s the cart at the door, and we We 
got the train to catch. It^s a short welcome for the last 
time. Mister Thomas, but itTl always be a good one so long 
as there is a roof -tree over Michael Moore^s head. So, good- 
bye, sir, and God bless you!^^ He shook hands with Toni;, 
wringing his hand harder than he knew, and bustled to 
the foot of the stairs. HereW Jack ready with the cart, 
missis, and Mister Thomas is here to say good-bye.'’^ 

The farmer W daughter stood in the middle of the dis- 
mantled room, and Tom Carroll, looking at her, felt grieved 
for her. He had played with her when he was a child, and 
he had known her all his life. 

T am sorry you are going,^^ he said — very sorry 
He held out his hand, and she laid hers in it languidly. 


S2 HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KKAYE, AND DEUCE. 

He felt a little awkward and clumsy at this^ for he had 
meant a farewell shake-hands, and the girFs fingers gave 
no sign of a responsive grip. So he stood feeling foolish 
enough for perhaps ten seconds, and that, though not a long 
time under most circumstances, is more than long enough 
to feel foolish in with any degree of comfort. In spite of 
his discomfiture, however — and he was always shy with 
women — he could not help looking at his old playmate, and 
it came into his mind with something of a shock — what a 
pretty girl she was! Not in the conventional way, perhaps, 
but what splendid, soft brown eyes, what a sensitive 
mouth, how graceful a figure, what a pretty curve in the 
neck and shoulders, while the sad head drooped and the 
brown eyes looked up tearful and artless like ababy^s! Yet 
the girl was eighteen if she was a day, and old enough to 
have known better than to look at a young man in a fash- 
ion so embarrassing if only she had thought about it. It 
was sufficiently evident that she thought of nothing just 
then except the sorrow of going and parting, unless it were, 
perhaps, the altogether acknowledged and unconscious com- 
fort of having her hand in a friend^ s, and that friend a 
man. 

. Whatever embarrassment the situation held was on 
Tom^s side only, for Tom was conscious, and the girl was 
not. A sudden step and a voice at the door promised re- 
lief, but in effect made matters serious. 

Azubah,^"" cried a young lady, entering suddenly, 
how dare you try to go away like this without letting me 
know of it?^^ The new-comer kissed the girl exuberantly, 
and made a cold and rather too sweeping courtesy to Tom, 
who blushed fierily and fidgeted with his hands and feet. 
It was noticeable that until the entrance of this new figure 
the farmer^ s daughter had worn a look of pretty refine- 
ment and delicacy; but in the radiance of the new-comer, 
and by contrast with her exquisite finery, the girFs pretti- 
ness dwindled into plainness, her refinement took an im-- 
mediate rusticity, and her dress looked poor. Nobody 
would have said that the new-comer was overdressed, but 
everything she wore was rich and fashionable, and she her- 
self had the art of wearing clothes to perfection, and she 
moved and looked like a princess — like a princess in a tale, 
that is, and not absolutely like the real thing, which is 
sometimes (treasonable as it may sound to say it) dowdy. 


HEAKTS: QUEElSr^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 33 

^ ‘ I wrote to you. Miss Lording, said the farmer^s daugh- 
ter, and sent the letter to the post an hour ago/^ 

You are a wicked girl,^^ returned Miss Lording, kiss- 
ing her again vehemently. “ And as for you, Mr. 
Moore, turning to the farmer, I think you most unkind 
to allow Azubah to go away without saying good-bye to 
me.'’^ 

Now come. Miss Lording,^ ^ said Moore, with a jocose 
and waggish air, ^^^^httoknow better than say that; 

you know what sort of a life you lead your father, a-riding 
rough-shod over all his orders, and I know what sort of life 
my gilTleads me. When I^m as dead as paternal authority 
is, I shall be ripe for burying. 

Here is another criminal,^ ^ said Miss Lording, turning 
severely toward Tom. You might have told me, Mr. 
Carroll.’'^ 

Like yourself. Miss Lording, said Tom, I only 
learned the news this afternoon. I have just arrived from 
town.'’^ 

Where are you going, Azubah?^^ asked the young lady. 

We" re all going up to London, miss,"" stiid the farm- 
er, and Azubah will doubtless write to say when we" re 
settled, where we are. But here"s the missis, and the 
cart"s waiting, and it"s good-bye all round."" 

He shook hands with overdone bustle and flourished his 
hat at the door beliind his departing wife and daughter, 
leaving his guests behind him. Perhaps in spite of the 
gayety of his manner he was aware of something in his eyes 
which might have told how the old farmer felt on uproot- 
ing himself from the soil on which his yeomen ancestors 
had grown and flourished. The latest comer followed, 
holding up her skirts from the dusty floor, and the be- 
draggled yard; and Tom, hat in hand, went after. The 
farmer bustled the women into the dog-cart, mounted in 
turn, took the reins, and drove off. His wife and daugh- 
ter, who faced backward on the old place they were leav- 
ing, began to cry and to wave pocket-handkerchiefs in 
token of farewell. Miss Lording and Tom responded, and 
when the cart had passed the corner of the lane the lady 
turned to her carriage, which stood at the farm-yard gate 
in charge of an old coachman of extremely grave and re- 
sponsible aspect. In place of ascending, as Tom expected, 
she turned back again. 


34 HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAYE^ AJiTD DEUCE, 

I am sorry/^ slie said, to have interrupted your 
leave-taking, Mr. Carroll, but,^^ she added with a shrug of 
the shoulders and a dazzling smile, the door was open,, 
and it was not my fault. 

Don^t mock me always,^ ^ Tom besought her, misera- 
bly. She laughed outright and clapped her hands. 

You look deliciously sentimental, Mr. Carroll. Is 
that a friend of yours? Who is he? He looks odd and at- 
tractive, and as if Jie were somebody. 

My friend Baretti, the artist, said Tom. 

Baretti she answered. Was it he who painted 
^ Saturn ^ ‘ Deep in the shady sadness of a vale ^? Oh, 
Tom, I am sorry I teased you. And you always do know 
such nice people! Bring him here.^^ 

Tom bowed delightedly and ran after Baretti. 

I want to introduce you to Miss Lording, Baretti, he 
said when he came up with him. She wants to know 
you. Your Academy picture impressed her greatly. 

They returned together, and the little artist being pre- 
sented, the queenly young lady said many pleasant things 
tp him, and finally drove away, leaving the two young men 
standing in the lane with the mist closing about them, and 
feeling very much as if a summer sun had suddenly van- 
ished from the skies, carrying all his warmth and bright- 
ness with him. 

Carroll, said the painter a minute later, in his ve- 
hement Italian way, I have beheld my ideal of all femi- 
nine grace and beauty. What splendor! what grace! what 
charm !^'’ 

Yes,^^ said Tom, in an oddly grudging way. She^s 
very pretty, isn^’t she?^^ 

‘‘ Gran Dio cried the painter, casting his arms wildly 
upward. ‘‘ He professes to have a soul, and he calls that 
vision of beauty — very pretty !^^ 


CHAPTEE IV. 

Mr. Carroll the elder and Mr. Carroll the younger sat 
together that evening after dinner. Baretti had retired os- 
tensibly to write letters, but really with no other object 
than to leave father and son alone to talk over any matters, 
they might have in mind after a separation of a month or 
two. 


HEARTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 35 

And what are you doing with yourself in London, 
Tom?^^ asked the father, sipping at his wine. 

Fiddling,'’^ said Tom, lightly, painting, writing. 

‘‘Things have changed since my day, said Mr. Car- 
roll, not without a tinge of sorrow in his tones. “ The 
occupations of which you speak are now the recognized re- 
laxations of a gentleman. I suppose the • change is a part 
of that progress of which we hear so much, and though I 
am far from admiring it, I can see that it is beyond indi- 
vidual control. You belong to your new generation and I 
belong to my old one, and we shall not convince each 
other. He sighed complacently, and drawing a gold snuff- 
box from his pocket, tapped it, opened it, closed it again, 
and put it back without using it. This was a habit with 
him. It probably comforted him with some old-world no- 
tions of a time when gentlemen had distinctive little cus- 
toms of their own which had not descended to the lower 
classes. “ There are some practices, he resumed, “ which 
are likely to be conserved even in these days of social de- 
cadence. And — d propos,^’ he added with a smile, “ when 
do you think of getting married?^ ^ 

Somewhat to the elder many's surprise the younger one 
blushed at this query. 

“ I am glad youVe mentioned that subject, father, said 
Tom with a smiling embarrassment. 

“Aha!^^ said Mr. Carroll with stately geniality. “Who 
is the lady?^^ 

“ AVell,^^ said Tom, blushing more deeply, “ I have 
-seen a good deal of her in town, and we have known each 
other a long time and — it^s Miss Lording. I havenH said 
a word about it until now, but — 

“ You think you understand each other asked the fa- 
ther. 

“ ’No/’ cried Tom. “ I don^’t think she dislikes me — 
but — 

“ Miss Lording, said Mr. Carroll, producing the gold 
snuff-box again and going once more through his pretense 
of preparation, “ Miss Lording is a young lady who would 
ornament any sphere and do credit to any household. She 
is handsome, well-bred, well-connected, and well-to-do. 
Tom^s diffidence did not extend itself to his father, and 
the elder many’s estimate of Miss Lording as his son^s fut- 
ure wife was in a second loftier than any opinion of her he 


36 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 

had previously held. When anything or person became in 
any way an appanage to the splendors of Thomas Carroll 
the elder, it was beautified at once by the halo which to 
his own eyes always dwelt upon him. I am growing a 
little tired, he continued, of my duties as justice of the 
peace, and when you are married and settled down I shall 
be glad to see you succeeding to your father^s functions. I 
have fulfilled that duty now for a quarter of a century, not 
altogether without credit.'’^ 

‘‘lam glad to have your approval, said Tom, bashful- 
ly. It was difficult as yet to talk even to his father on 
such a matter. 

“ Your mention of that topic leads me,^^ said Mr. Car- 
roll, “ to a subject of some •importance which affects my- 
self. When I asked you to bring down your artistic friend, 
I did so with a purpose. You spoke very highly of him, 
and I am told that in regard to such matters your judg- 
ment is to be trusted. When a gentleman undertakes a 
public duty he does not look for a reward, but it is possible 
that either by length of service or by the exercises of an 
UQ usual ability he may secure some recognition. I have 
received a letter signed on behalf of my colleagues on the 
bench by Lord Bonnamy. In that letter I am informed 
that at a recent meeting of the county justices it was unan- 
imously resolved — unanimously resolved — to invite me to 
sib for my portrait to any artist of my choice. It is pro- 
posed to preserve the picture, he added with composed 
magnificence, “ in the Shire Hall itself. The act, as you 
will observe, is spontaneous, and I will not disguise the fact 
that it is of a nature calculated to gratify me.^^ 

“ Assuredly, said Tom; “ a very high compliment in- 
deed. He was not quite as well pleased with the news as 
if it had come at another moment. 

“ Your friend Baretti is thoroughly competent to the 
task?^^ inquired Mr. Carroll. 

“ Competent!^^ cried Tom. And he began to praise 
Baretti muc’h beyond his merits, which were great. His 
father being willing, the enthusiast ran to his friend^ s 
room and brought him down-stairs. Baretti began at once 
to regard Mr. Carroll with a critical and observant eye, 
and to move about him so as to get various views of him, 
in so much that the subject began to think the artist disre- 
spectful. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KNAVE^ A]SrD DEUCE. 


37 


I have never found time to devote myself to the study 
of the fine arts/^ said Mr. Carroll, by and by, although 
I am not one of those who regard a knowledge of the mi- 
nutiae of those pursuits as being unworthy of a gentleman. 
But my interest, although it has found but a casual expres- 
sion, has been consistent, and I have often thought that 
when one calls to mind the gratification it affords to future 
generations to look upon the lineaments of one who has 
been esteemed in his day and generation, one is tempted 
to invest the portrait-painter with an almost factitious im- 
portance, and to identify him with his theme. 

Yes,^^ said Tom, with a laugh, one may say more 
than that sometimes. Look at that glorious collection of 
portraits of old nobodies at the Musee Plan tin. I dare say 
somebody knows their histories, but if Eubens hadnH 
painted them nobody would have cared to know whether 
they had lived or died. He had said all this in one eager 
burst, before he bad time to think that it was not quite 
complimentary to his father. You must do your best to 
immortalize my father, Baretti,^^ he added, uncomfortably. 

This view of the case was new to Mr. Carroll, but it was 
his habit to ignore things which seemed to work against 
his own conceptions of himself. He looked at Tom with 
an allowing smile, but gave no further expression to his 
thoughts. People frequently had opinions of that sort, and 
it was scarcely worth while to interrupt them. He put the 
finger-tips of both hands together, and addressed Baretti, 
as if unconscious of the interruption. 

It is unfortunate that our list of reliable portraits of 
eminent men is so small. We have, for instance, no reli-^ 
able representation of the greatest of English poets. And 
when one refiects that it was within the power of any in- 
considerable number of inconsiderable people to offer him 
such a requisition as that of which I am the honored re- 
cipient, one is the more regretful and the more surprised. 
Mr. Carroll warmed with his theme, and continued: 

What would we give for a portrait of King Solomon, a 
reliable likeness of Alexander, of Bruce, or of Alfred the 
Great?^^ Nobody offering to appraise the value of these 
lost blessings, he paused awhile, and then, rising from his 
seat, unlocked a drawer and took from it Lord Bonnamy^s 
letter. He put up his gold eyeglasses and read it through, 
holding it at arm^s-length, then folding it, he resumed his 


38 hearts: queeji, kkave, and deuce. 

seat, and, tapping the paper against the eyeglasses, and 
gazing serenely at the fire, he said, I shall certainly ac- 
cede to the request of my fellow-justices.^^ 

The talk drifted, and no further allusion was made to 
Tom^s matrimonial prospects. The young fellow, who 
was not much of an egotist, and never very disposed to be 
exigent about his own affairs, felt yet a little hurt at the 
fashion in which his father had shelved the theme. An 
only son^s marriage might have seemed, he thought, at 
least as interesting as even the fiattering request of the 
country justices. Tom went to bed a little depressed and 
disheartened, but the topic near his heart found a renewal 
next morning. 

Breakfast was just over. Mr. Carroll was reading the 
Times. Tom was standing at the fire, and Baretti was 
in another room, setting up an easel and generally prepar- 
ing for the beginning of the new commission, when a knock 
sounded on the door of the breakfast-room. Tom called. 
Come in,^^ and a servant entered, bearing a card upon a 
salver. 

Show Mr. Lording this way, Johnson, said Mr. Car- 
rol]. Your arrival is auspicious, Lording. 

I^m glad to hear it,^^ said the new-comer. He threw 
back a pair of broad shoulders and showed a set of white 
teeth as he laughed. Polly saw Master Tom yesterday, 
and I^ve just come round to see him. How^s London, 
Tom? And how^s the magnum opuSy the opera? And 
why is my arrival auspicious, Carroll? Eh?^^ 

There was nothing surprisingly comic in this speech, but 
the speaker laughed so heartily after it that he might have 
« uttered the happiest of hon 7nots and been less pleased. 

Sit down,'’^ said Mr. Carroll, and I will tell you.^^ 

GadT^ said the visitor, sitting down, ^^you look as 
solemn as if Calcraft wouldn^t act, and they wanted me to 
play the part of sheriff in good earnest. What^s the mat- 
ter?'’^ 

It^s scarcely so terrible as that,^^ said Tom, who felt 
sure of the father, at least, whatever the daughter^'s opin- 
ion might prove to be. 

The fact is, Lording,^^ said Mr. Carroll, addressing 
himself to his visitor with a ponderous gravity, Tom and 
I were last night discussing a matter of the utmost mo- 
ment to his welfare. I had asked him — without any ex- 


hearts: queeh, knave, and deuce. 


39 


pectation of a definite answer — whether he had as yet any 
ideas upon the marriage question. To my surprise, he 
mentioned your daughter. 

Eh?'’^ said the old gentleman. Why, she^s a baby. 
And you^re no more than a boy, Tom.'^^ 

I am five-and-twenty,^^ said Tom defensively. 

Then, by JoveT^ said Lording, she^s more than 
nineteen, for you weren^t six when she was born. Gad, 
how time flies, eh, Carroll 

Mr. Carroll regarded his guest with an eye which seemed 
to convey a tolerant rebuke to flippancy. 

I should have approached you with more ceremony — 
he began. 

Ceremony be hanged cried Lording. never was 
more surprised in my life. But if Tom wants the girl to 
marry him he must ask her. And if she will^ she must; 
and if she won^t, it^s of no use to ask me to do anything. 
And I wish you luck, my lad, and I hope, if the little girl 
says yes, that youTl be happy. 

The match would mei&t with your good-will in- 
quired Mr. Carroll. 

Seriously,^ ^ said the guest, with a visage suddenly 
grown solemn, I am pleased and proud. He laughed a 
second- later, What sort of luck you may have — Tom, 
my lad — I canT even guess. But I dare say, you rascal, 
you know all about that already. Eh?^^ 

Indeed, sir — Tom began in tones of protest. 

^‘You donT?^^ cried Miss Lording^s father. Gad, 
sir, your old dad and I knew our way about a little better 
than you youngsters seem to do. Didn^t we, Carroll 
He threw back his square gray head and his big shoulders, 
and laughed prodigiously, and made a motion to dig Mr. 
Carroll in the ribs. 

I am happy, said that gentleman, evading Lording ^s 
fingers, and speaking with much gravity of manner, that 
the proposal meets with your approval.'’^ 

‘‘ Well,'’ ^ said the guest, beaming, ^^it^s a matter for 
Polly to settle, I suppose, and if she says yes, I don^’t see 
who’s to prevent it.^^ 

There was a knock at the door. Come in,'’^ cried 
Tom. My friend Baretti, Mr. Lording. 

Good Lord,^^ cried the old gentleman, with another 
great laugh, ‘‘ Absit omen I Ahsit omen I Glad to meet 


40 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^, KISTAVE, AISTD DEUCE. 


you^ Mr. Baretti. My daughter spoke of having met you 
with my friend Tom here, and I promised myself the pleas- 
ure of making your acquaintance. I^m a plain country- 
man, Mr. Baretti, of the old school. I donT know much 
about art, but I have the sense to reverence, even where I 
haveiiT the brains to understand. My daughter is a judge 
of that sort of thing, and speaks of you in such terms, sir, 
that I am proud to meet you. 

He kept the artistes hand in his during the whole of this 
^address, and when he had finished he laughed with much 
^heartiness, though what (except his own high spirits) he 
had to laugh at was not obvious. 

Mr. Baretti,^^ said the master of the house, has been 
so good as to consent to paint my portrait. 

I did not know,^^ said the Italian, that you were en- 
gaged. I came to say that I was ready. 

YoudonT mind my looking on?^'’ asked Lording, with 
boy-like eagerness. Tve never seen anybody painting 
except my daughter. I suppose, now,^^ he asked, you 
paint in oils* doiTt you?^^ 

In this case,^^ said the artist, yes.'^^ 

Is this the picture for the Shire Hall?^^ asked Lord- 
ing. 

The picture for the Shire Hall,^^ assented Mr. Carroll, 
with tranquil majesty. The present,^ ^ he added, ‘‘is 
the only time at our disposal. We will begin now, Mr. 
Baretti, if you please. 

Mr. Carroll, being marshaled by his three attendants to 
the room assigned, was set in a proper light, and being bid- 
den to turn his head a little in such a way, and to lower 
his chin a little in such a way, to fold his hands in such a 
manner, and to settle his shoulders in such another man- 
ner, was a spectacle the like of which, for lordly conde- 
scension and regal obedience, is not often to be seen. The 
little Italian prowled around him with stealthy step and 
watchful eye, taking note of his proportions and his lines, 
and looked so much at the moment like some velvet beast 
of prey about to spring that Mr. Carroll experienced un- 
comfortable sensations. 

“ Is not the canvas rather small?^^ inquired the sitter. 

“ All the portraits in the Shire Hall are kit-cats, an- 
swered Tom. “ This is the same size. 

“ Kit-cats said Mr. Carroll, as if he tasted the word 


hearts: QUEEJSr^ KHAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 41 

and disapproved of its flavor, what is meant by kit- 
cats 

Sit still, if you please, cried the painter. JSiow,^^ 
a moment later, you can move as much as you like.'’'’ 

The sitter was silent, if only from sheer amazement. A 
minute or two later he laughed. 

You gentlemen of the brush,^^ he said, have some- 
thing of a royal way with you when at work. '’^ 

My sitters have told me that before, said Baretti. 
The rebuke passed over his head. Mr. Carroll began to 
dislike the little man and his ways. 

Lording looked on with great interest whilst Baretti 
painted, and Tom bore himself as well as he could, though 
he felt a little sore at the neglect of his aflairs. In about 
two hours^ time Baretti, who painted with great rapidity, 
had upon the canvas a foggy resemblance of his sitter'’ s 
form and features, with a sort of mud halo about the head. 

That will do for to-day,'’'’ he said, throwing down his 
brushes and stretching himself. The fire is out. '’^ 

Mr. Carroll rose solemnly and inspected the work. 
Do you detect a likeness, Lording?^^ he asked doubtfully. 

It^s wonderful,'’^ said Lording, really wonderful.'’^ 
He turned to Baretti with almost an air of reverence: 
My girl paints very prettily in water-colors,^-’ he said, 
but I never saw any one paint in oils before. Ik’s really 
very remarkable — very remarkable. 

You set me at liberty for the rest of the day, Mr. Ba- 
retti?^^ demanded Mr. Carroll stiffly. 

Yes,^'’ said the little painter, languidly; while the 
fire is alight I work. When it goes out I have done. I 
could not do anything more to-day even at a portrait.'’^ 

Why even at a portrait?^ ^ asked Lording. 

Oh,'’'’ said the little man, lighting a cigar, a portrait 
is not often so — what is your word?— so demanding? — no 
— that will not do — a portrait does not often draw you on 
like a picture of your own choosing. You can put it away 
without sorrow, and you can work at it without joy.^^ 

This as relating to portraits in general might be true 
enough, but Mr. Carroll began to have the meanest opinion 
of the painter^s intellect. 

Well,^^ cried Lording, with another of his great laughs 
at the end of the statement, IVe a ride before me and 
something to do when I get home. Eh, Tom? Ha! ha! 


42 hearts: queeh, khave, and deuce. 

ha! You come over this afternoon, Tom, will you? Eh? 
Ha-ha-ha-ha! Good-morning, Tom. Good-morning, Car- 
roll. Good-morning, Mr. Baretti. Em very proud to 
have made your acquaintance, sir. See you this afternoon, 
Tom. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha !^^ 

He went out in a storm of merriment and Mr. Carroll 
retired with him, leaving Tom and Baretti together. Tom, 
with a flutter at his breast, went out of the room to avoid 
the necessity for talking, and the painter sat still for a time 
and smoked. But by and by he displaced the canvas from 
which Mr. CarrolFs ghostly presentment stared at him, 
and set upon the easel a small panel on which he began to 
sketch with a bit of charcoal, touching here and there with 
such a wandering hand that an onlooker might have been 
puzzled to guess the meaning of the lines. But in a few 
minutes these lines all began to grow together, and in a 
few minutes more they resulted in a beautiful feminine 
face. The artist, having regarded it attentively, took up a 
duster, rubbed out the drawing, and began again. This 
time the beautiful feminine face came out as Miss Mary 
Lording^ s undoubted image, and the painter, resuming his 
seat, smoked tranquilly as he regarded it with half-shut, 
meditative eyes., 

About five minutes later a step sounded in the corridor 
and a hand was laid upon the handle of the door. The 
painter rose and rubbed the beautiful feminine face from 
the panel, almost with a feeling of detected guilt. He would 
have been troubled to guess why he had destroyed the 
drawing, and perhaps still more troubled to say why he 
felt guilty, but the face had been haunting him oddly ever 
since he had seen it, and was present in his mind with a 
curiously irresistible demand to be reproduced in visible 
form. 

The intruder was the master of the house, and he, after 
one questioning look about the room, bowed in silence and 
retired. BareHi listened to his footstep as they traveled 
toward Tom^s chamber, which was in the same corridor, 
and then began to sketch anew. The same face came out 
upon the panel, and once more he dusted it away, and this 
time with a look of resolution as if he had done with the 
theme, he put away the panel and set up the damp, gleam- 
ing ghostly presentation of his host again. Then he walked 
X’estlessly about the room, and next sat down at the table 


HEAETS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


43 


and began to sketch the view from the window, but his 
thoughts strayed oif, and before he knew it, there was a 
pretty hat in outline on the paper, and below the hat a 
charming face with an escaping curl or two upon the fore- 
head — Mary Lording to the life again. He tore the paper 
with an exclamation of impatience and left the room. 

^ow this might mean a good deal or it might mean noth- 
ing — nothing, that is, but an artistic fancy and an artistic 
preoccupation. Ardent young artists are wont to be haunt- 
ed by shapes of beauty, and Baretti was likelier to be im- 
pressed by form and color than another man. But artists 
are a good deal hardened, too, in the matter of feminine 
charms, which, in their case, strike the eye with singular 
vividness, but leave the heart untouched; and if a painter 
fell in love with all the owners of the beautiful faces that 
dwell in his memory and ask to be painted he would have 
his hands full. Yet the little Italian went about perturbed 
in spirit, and thought more of Mary Lording ^s face than 
was good for him. 

Tom left him alone after luncheon, with no explanation 
of his errand, and Baretti made more sketches of random 
themes. The face crept into them all, and at last he re- 
signed himself to the pleasure it gave him. His hand be- 
came so familiar with it, and his memory preserved it so 
clearly, that he drew it in all the varying expressions he 
had seen upon it, until he began to long to give it color, 
and yielded to the longing. Before twilight fell he had 
painted a delicate little picture in water-color, slight, but 
very true and fine, and after staring at this until he could 
see it no longer, he put it away in his portmanteau and 
burned all the pencil sketches he had made. 


CHAPTER V. 

Papa Lording, riding home in the brisk air and sun- 
light, turned over in his mind the proposal young Carroll 
had made for his daughter's hand. He was a bluff and 
hearty man of a type common amongst English country 
gentlemen; had a rare good heart, a magnificent digestion, 
and as much mental polish as the fiber of which he was 
made would carry. He sucked marrow of mirth and 
laughter out of things at which most people do not even 


44 


HEARTS : QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


smile : and tlijs was not because he was a humorist, but be- 
cause his nature was of that downright sunlit sort which is 
probably only to be found among Englishmen. He had 
not the remotest idea as he rode that he was going to be in- 
volved in a love story at all out of the common. Here was 
a handsome young fellow, well connected and well-to-do, 
who had taken a liking in the ordinary fashion to a charm- 
ing young woman of nineteen, also well connected and 
well-to-do. The pair would probably be married, and 
Papa Lording would very well have liked, in the manner 
of his own earlier day, to have danced at the wedding. 

The old gentleman confessed to himself, as he had con- 
fessed to the suitor an hour or two before, that he was 
without voice in the matter. His daughter drove him, and 
if it were only with a peacock ^s feather for whip, and a 
thread of silk for rein, he was none the less bound to go 
the way she wanted. 

At the sound of hoof- beats in the avenue. Miss Lording 
ran from the room in which she sat into the hall, and 
there awaited her father. Kival charms are rarely so 
equally balanced that some girl or other has not the right 
to be called the belle of her part of the country, or the 
beauty of her county. Miss Lording had that right, and 
was probably aware of it. She was undeniably English in 
style (the loveliest style, as I make bold to believe, in the 
world); she had lovely eyes, a face of charming contour 
and expression, a wealth of hair of fine texture and glossy 
hue (her own), and a figure neither too ripe nor too fragile, 
too tall nor too dumpy. Her vivacity of sjDirit lit up those 
beautiful eyes with a constant variety of expression, and 
set that charming figure in a constantly varied and deli- 
cately graduated series of postures, so that she avoided all 
seeming of monotony without running into that opposing 
sin of jerkiness which is the snare of many lively young 
ladies, who, without it, might be charming. 

Her father, having dismounted, surrendered his horse 
and ran up the stone steps which led to the hall. His 
genial British face and genial British heart were alike 
aglow, and alike a little tenderer than common. There 
was not much romance in the good old gentleman^s nature, 
but the love stories of the young sometimes awaken memo- 
ries in the minds of the middle-aged, and he had been 
. thinking on his ride with unwonted warmth and gentleness 


HEAETS: QUEEIST;, KKAYE, Ai^D DEUCE. 45 

of the days of his own youth, when he himself wenfca-court- 
ing. So the kiss which commonly celebrated his return 
from an absence of whatever brevity was multiplied into 
three, one for the dimple on each ripe cheek, and one for 
the charming lips between them. 

Polly, said the old gentleman, with twinkling eyes, 

I have brought a little present for you.""^ 

Yes!^^ said the young lady, what is it?^^ Her father, " 
with one arm round her waist, led her to the room she had 
quitted a moment before, and there turning faced her 
squarely. What is the matter, papa?^^ she asked. 

Why do you look at me so oddly 
Well,^^ said papa, ^^the present I have to offer you 
(and it isn^t mine) is an article which is supposed by good 
judges to be worth a great deal. I have seen such a tiling 
described in print as a perfect mine of jewels. I^’ve been 
told that it^s a sort of talisman to make a good girl happy 
all her life long, provided that she doesn^t lose it. Pve 
actually known one or two cases in which it has really done 
as much. But all the same, I^m not quite certain w^hether ' 
you^ll care to have it. 

“ You mustn^t be a ridiculous old gentleman, said his 
daughter. What is it, dear?^^ 

Perhaps in a general way she guessed the nature of the 
jiroffered gift, for she blushed slightly. 

It^s a young man^s heart, my darling, said the old 
fellow, warranted sound and whole, and rising five-and- 
twenty.-^^ 

Miss Lording began to take a close and serious interest 
in the pattern of papa^s watch-chain. 

Has the young man a tongue as well as a heart, ► 
papa?^^ she asked. And should I know his face if I saw 
it?^^ 

You^ll see it this afternoon, said the old gentleman. 

And then you can judge for yourself.*’^ 

Am I to say ^ Yes ^ or ‘ No ^ at once?^^ she asked, 
looking up at him saucily. ‘ ^ Or may I wait till I see the 
hearPs owner?^^ 

You had better wait,^^ he said, patting her cheeks 
affectionately. His voice was husky at that moment, for 
he saw quite suddenly a house that looked most mournful 
and empty, and himself going about it solitary. The girl 
answered to his thoughts: 


46 hearts: QUEEH, KIs-AVE^ akd deuce. 

Send the young man^s heart back again, papa. It is 
.,no honest gift, but a bait.^^ 

DonH you ask to know whose it is?’^ he demanded. 

‘‘ Young men donH give their hearts away for nothing, 
said Miss Lording, still busy with her father^ s watch-chain. 

The young man has designs, and I have penetration 
jenough.to guess them. Send the wicked present back 
again, papa. I am happy without it. 

DoiiT you ask to know whose it is?^^ he asked again. 

- slie said, in a tone of mighty indifference, and 

wound the watch-chain about one of her white fingers with 
an air of elaborate interest. 

Very well, my dear,’’ said the old boy with a sigh. 

If it isn’t to-day it will be to-morrow. The poor l^ad 
will be here this afternoon to take his present back again 
— a little cracked I’m afraid. ” 

Who is it, papa?” she asked. 

I thought yon didn’t want to know, you rogue!” cried 
her father with a laugh. 

‘‘ But I have a right to know, sir, if I choose,” she 
answered, with a pretty mock defiance. 

It’s young Carroll,” said her father. I shall have 
to give you away to somebody some day, and I could part 
with you to him as willingly as to anybody. ” The girl was 
blushing, and even trembling a little, by this time. But 
if it’s settled, and you won’t have anything to say to him — ” 
Some slight change in her posture, something in the 
droop of her head, perhaps, or something in the nervous 
action of the fingers toying with the watch-chain, stopped 
him. Is it ^ Yes ’ or ^ No,’ my dear?” he asked, putting 
an arm about her neck. 

I don’t know, papa,” murmured the young lady. 

Well, well,” said the old gentleman, think it over, 
my dear, and decide for your own happiness.” He kissed 
her and left her a little sadly, feeling somewhat like a 
criminal whose repeal has been granted and snatched away 
again. These youngsters,” he said to himself, with 
half a sigh and half a laugh, come gayly enough to steal 
an old man’s treasure. But Tom’s a good lad — a good 
lad.” 

Girls are known to be quick at sounding the affections 
of young people of the opposite se:?^ when the affections 
concern themselves, and it is likely that Miss Lording was 


hearts: QUEEi^^ KHAYE, Ai^D DEUCE. 


47 


not very mucli surprised at hearing Tom CarrolFs name at 
the end of her father ^s little parable. There was nothing 
to dislike in the young man. He was tall and straight, 
and handsome and well-bred. He was reputed for a good- 
hearted fellow, and he was popular with all sorts and con- 
ditions of men. It would not be difHcult to like him very 
much. 

Now, this is not the language of ardent passion, but 
(Juliet and all manner of poetic precedents to the contrary 
notwithstanding) ardent passion is not altogether a pretty 
thing in a young woman to begin with. There are plenty 
of exceptions, of course, but the ordinary marriageable love 
of the ordinary marriageable young Englishwoman begins 
with liking and goes on in tranquil growth, finding deep 
root without the influence of storm, and learning to flour- 
ish, fair and calm and broad, in a tolerably equaMe temper- 
ature. 

Whether his daughter were as yet in love with Tom 
Carroll or not, whether she simply liked him, or had 
already passed over the boundary line between liking and 
loving, was a problem too delicate for a man of Papa Lord- 
ing^ s blunt discernment to solve. But he felt pretty sure 
that the girl would say Yes '''' tg Tomb’s question, and he 
was lonely in anticipation. The time seemed to drag with 
him until the lover came. Tom CarrolPs heart beat 
higher than usual as he rode along the trim avenue and 
surrendered his horse at the door. The old boy received 
him with more than common cordiality. 

I know nothing about it, Tom,^^ he said, but you 
have my best wishes. I don^t authorize you to tell her so, 
mind, for she must make her own choice quite freely. 

I understand you perfectly, sir,^^ said the youngster, a 
little proudly. I donT think I should care to marry any 
woman, however dearly — ^liowever highly I might esteem 
her, unless she took me of her own free will.'^^ 

Quite right, Tom,^^said the other; a very proper 
spirit. But donT you think you’d rather — have it over?^^ 
Why, yes, sir,^^ said Tom, with a dry little laugh, I 
should like to know.^^ 

Come this way/’ said Lording, and Tbm followed into 
a small, cheerfully furnished sitting-room, in which Mary 
sat alone, making busy pretense of doing something with a 
needle. Tom has ridden over, my dear,^^ said her father 


48 HEAKTS: QUEEK, KISTAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 

with a most transparent pretense of having nothing on his 
mind — ridden over to have a look at us. I^’ll just leave 
him here for a minute whilst I go and — 

He had no excuse ready, and therefore slid away without 
one, leaving the young people together. 

Have you deserted your friend Signor Baretti, Mr* 
Carroll?^’ asked the young lady. 

Yes,^^ said Tom, hurriedly plunging in medias res. 

I have come over with a very special object. I do not 
know whether your father has spoken of it."'^ 

A special object?'’'' said the young lady, surveying her 
labors with a head set sideways and an air of exasjDerating 
want of interest in his communication. 

I can^t hope to tell you how much in earnest I am,^^ 
said Tom, or how much depends to me upon this inter- 
view.^" He paused and looked at her. She was surveying 
her needle- work again with eyes of elaborate innocence, and 
he felt discouraged. ‘‘lam here,"" he went on desper- 
ately, “ to ask you to be my wife."" 

Miss Lording bent over the elegant trifle upon her lap 
and gave it a yet closer scrutiny. Tom waited, and she 
said nothing. The silence began to grow extremely awk- 
ward. Some young men in an enterprise of this kind are 
easily abashed, and Tom Carroll was one of them. The 
longer the silence continued the harder it was to break it, 
and he felt cold and miserable. 

“ Have you no answer for me?"" he said at last. 

“ I don"t know,"" said the young lady demurely — “ until 
— I am asked."" Tom Carroll marched across the little 
room, planted a chair by her side, and sat down in it with 
an air of terrible resolve. 

“ Will you?"" he asked in a whisper, “ will you be my 
wife?"" 

“ Don"t you think, Mr. Carroll,"" She answered, picking 
up the bit of needle- work to examine it more closely, “ don"t 
you think that this is a little — precipitate?"" 

“ Why,"" cried Tom, “ we have known each other all 
our lives."" 

“ I have not had any experience in such matters,"" said 
the young lady, “ but I have always understood that there 
were preliminaries to a question of that sort. "" 

“Oh,"" said the youngster, “ don"t jest with me. Miss 
Lording. Don"t laugh at me. It is death to me^ if it is 


hearts: queen^^ khaye, ahd deuce. 


49 


sport to you.^^~JJe took the needle-work trifle from her and 
possessed himself of her hands. Tell me/^ he mur- 
mured. 

What?^^ demanded the disingenuous young woman, 
with averted countenance. 

Tell me you love me. 

For shame, Mr. Carroll, to ask a poor girl to say suc*h 
things 

Will you be my wife?^ ^ said Tom, growing bolder every 
moment. 

I don^t know,^^ she answered. 

You don^’t know how I love you,^^ said the courtier, 
with a hand in each of his. 

she said, that is true. I have never been 

told.^^ 

Shall I tell you?^^ said he. 

Thank you,^^ she answered, with inflnite dry demure- 
ness, I should like to hear it very much. 

I can^'t,^'' said Tom. There are no words for it. I 
love you with all my heart and soul — but that seems to say 
nothing. I think,^^ he went on, blushing and stammer- 
ing, that you are the most beautiful woman in the 
world. 

That is very nice of you,^^ said Miss Lording, tran- 
quilly. She was so exasperating that, though he never 
knew how it came about, Tom took her in his arms and 
kissed her over and over again. Perhaps that was the true 
way with her, and in any case (even if it were not that 
masterly method of wooing that won her) it was then that 
she was won. 

For shame, Mr. Carroll she cried, with face and 
neck and ears all rosy with blushes; it is well to have a 
giant^s strength, but tyrannous to use it like a giant. Let 
me go. 

Not until you promise, cried the lover. Will you 
bemywife?^^ 

If you insist upon it,^*^ said the young lady. But a 
promise under compulsion is no promise. 

Tom released her, and dropped upon one knee before her 
like a wooer of old days. 

Will you promise now?^^ She bent over him with 
mirth and tenderness. 

“ Do you wish it very much?^^ she asked. 


50 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

With all my soul/^ he answered, taking her hands 
again. Will you promise 

You will be good?^^ she demanded. 

As gold,^^ said the young man. 

Then release me.^^ He dropped her hands, still 
kneeling before her, and she took a step backward. I 
promise, she said, and whisking the door open, she 
skimmed from the room like a swallow, leaving her lover 
with hands that grasped at air. But the young fellow rose 
with a glad heart and went in search of his divinity ^s 
father. 

What news, Tom?^^ the old fellow asked. 

She accepts me, sir,^’ said Tom, blushing, but she 
has run away. 

No compunction in your heart, Tom?^^ said the 
father, shaking hands with him No remorse for rob- 
bing an old fellow of his only treasure, and leaving him 
lonely.? Eh?^^ 

You set a bad example, sir, some thirty years ago,^^ 
said Tom. Lording exploded in one of his great ringing 
laughs, but there were tears in his eyes all the same which 
were not altogether born of laughter. 

She^s a good girl, Tom,^^ he said, though I say it. 
A good girl. And if she^s as good a wife as she^s a daugh- 
ter, youdl have a treasure. But one word, my lad. Y^ou 
mustnH run away with her yet awhile. I must have time 
to get used to it, and to think it over. Now, Tom, you^e 
done your business — ride away and tell your father. Yes; 
I turn you out of doors, like a wicked father in a novel. 
Go away, lad, and tell the old fellow to get ready to lose his 
son, whilst the other old fellow gets ready to lose his daugh- 
ter. You ^11 see her to-morrow. She wants to see your friend 
painting, and I promised to bring her over. Good-after- 
noon, lad, and God bless you!^^ 

Tom went unwillingly, but he went. Pleasant thoughts 
were his companions as he rode homeward. Arrived, he 
told his father of the prosperity of his suit, and submitted 
to a lengthy dissertation on the responsibilities of married 
life. After dinner he sat with Baretti in the room set 
apart as a temporary studio, and listened pleased to the 
little man^s animated chatter. There was a fire at one end 
of the room, and the Italian stood rubbing his hands over 
it, cigar in mouth, and basking in the cheerful glow. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK:, KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 51 

This is better than St. Jameses Park, Carroll/^ he 
said at last. Tom^s outer ear caught this statement, but 
his mind was deaf to its meaning. He was thinking of 
Mary, and he answered mechanically — 

Yes. I suppose it is more comfortable.^^ 

. Ah, my friend,^*' said Baretti, who was liable to be run 
away with whenever he mounted this theme, it was not 
that I was hungry, and had no food. It was not that I 
was cold, and had no fire. But it is terrible to despair, 
and I despaired when I met you. There is nothing I have 
in the world, there is nothing I ever shall have which I do 
not owe and shall not owe to you. 

Look here, Baretti,^^ said Tom, once for all, I won'^t 
have it. It was a bargain between us that that time should 
be forgotten. 

It shall be forgotten,'’^ cried Baretti, fiercely, when I 
grow to be a hound and a scoundrel. It shall be forgotten 
when I lie and rot in my dishonorable grave. But not an 
hour before. And I have no way to repay you. You want 
for nothing. There is nothing I can do for you.^^ 

Stupidest of men!^^ said Tom; you have repaid what 
I lent you, and there is an end of it.'^'' 

What did you lend me?^^ cried the artist, flinging his 
cigar into the fire. A handful of dirty money which you 
did not want, and which was nothing to you because you 
did not want it? And what besides? Nothing but hope 
when I despaired ; nothing but my belief in men, which I 
had lost; nothing but my power to work, which had left 
me! If I am happy, and can hope again, I owe it to you. 
If I reach to fame and prosperity, as I shall, the fame and 
prosperity are yo.urs by right, not mine. And you want 
for nothing, and I can pay you nothing. 

He declaimed every word of this harangue with vivid 
passing and superabundant gesture. . There were tears in 
his dark eyes when he closed, and he fawned upon Tom 
almost as an affectionate dog might have done. 

What shall I do for you? How shall I pay you? If 
you shall come to me one day and say — ^ For my service 
surrender everything. Fame, Ambition, Hope, whatever is 
dearest to your heart, ^ do you think I would not do it? 
You made me, and you own me.""^ 

All this is madness, answered Tom. You doiiT 


52 


HEAKTS: QUEElSr, KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


know how it hurts me to hear you talk like that. Now% 
my dear good fellow, don^t say any more. 

I know,^^ said Baretti, with a curious darkness cloud- 
ing his face as he spoke, but you may live to prove me.^^ 

Now, there you are on a wrong track again, said 
Tom. I don^t doubt you. I only say that you exagger- 
ate to the very height of absurdity a very simple service. 
If your own idiotic quixotic pride had not been in your 
way, a thousand men would, have done as much for you.-"^ 

‘‘ Aha!^'’ cried the little painter, with outstretched 
hands. But where were the nine hundred and ninety- 
nine? It was you who did it, and you can not escape from 
it; and I will be grateful, if you were to kill me for it. I 
have never, he added, with a ludicrously sudden return 
to the tones of commonplace, have never admired that 
stolidity of character on which you English pride your- 
selves. Ariosto ^s fable is true. God found one day a lump 
of gold, and he wrapped it in lead and cast it upon the 
earth, and that was the English people. And you have 
been ashamed of the gold, and proud to show the wretched 
lead ever since. He was in a great heat of scorn by this 
time, and flung the moral of his fable at Tom^s head as if 
it had been a challenge to mortal combat. But in another 
second he had veered to his old manner. Why can not 
I do anything for you?^^ 

Well, look here, old man,^^ said Tom, with something 
like an inspiration, since I am such a burden to your 
soul, you shall do something for me. Something I shall 
value so highly that even you, seeing how I prize it, shall 
admit that we are quits. 

I do not think that,^^ said Baretti; but tell me what 
it is.'^^ There was such a look upon him as Curtius, his 
countryman, might have worn when he leaped into the 
gulf. 

It^s nothing-mad brained or heroical,^^ said Tom, with 
an embarrassed laugh. I want you to paint a portrait — 
that^s all. 

Yours?^^ demanded Baretti, eagerly. 

No, not mine,^^ said Tom. 

Whose?^^ 

The young fellow returned no direct answer to this ques- 
tion. He asked in turn — You doiiT know why I went 
out this afternoon?^ ^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAYE, AND DEUCE. 53 

No/^ said Barettu with a wondering look at him. 

I went out/’ said Tom/making a pretense of lighting 
his cigar, “ for the express purpose of making— a proposal 
of marriage. 

And you made it?"^ cried the painter, taking him by 
both arms. 

I made it/’ said Tom. 

And the lady said ^ Yes/ cried the little Italian. 
And it is her portrait that I am to paint. Thank you! 
Thank you! That is kind indeed!'’^ 

Yes/’ said Tom, thawing somewhat at his companion's 
fire. I want a portrait of the only woman I ever cared 
for, painted by the hand of the dearest friend I have in the 
world. 

Ah!^^ said Baretti, vehemently. Do you mean that? 
Do you mean that?^^ 

Yes,^’ said Tom, I mean it.^^ And in all real hon- 
esty he had long since begun to love the little man to whom 
he had done such a service. 

It shall be,^^ said the painter, with a beaming face, 
the dearest pleasure of my life, and I will paint as I have 
never painted before. I will paint like Murillo, like 
Eaphael, like Titian — I will paint like the master of them 
all.''^ He went striding up and down the room, and then 
suddenly pausing, seized Carroll by both hands. I am 
forgetting. My dear, dear Carroll, with all my heart and 
soul I congratulate you. I wish you happiness and long 
life. Do I know the lady?^^ 

You have seen her,^^ said Tom, laughing, and blush- 
ing, and shaking hands. You saw her yesterday, and I 
introduced you to her. ^ . 

Some new emotion knocked at the painter^s heart, a 
sensation never felt before, swift and keen and painful. 
Carroll, in his pleasant embarrassment, was not looking at 
him, and the change in his face passed unnoticed. Baretti 
dragged his hands away from Tom^s grasp and walked the 
length of the room. 

“What men you are, you English !^^ he said, in a tone so 
curious that it struck the other strangely. You said she 
was a pretty girl.^^ He laughed, and Tom thought the 
laugh an odd one. “ A young man is in love. He is not 
a common young man, but an artist, and he has written 
music that makes me believe he has a soul. And one day 


04 HEAKTS: QUEEis^, KXAVE, Al^D EEUCE. 

meeting the goddess of his dreams, he can turn to a friend 
who loves him, and say she is a pretty girl. You are be- 
yond me. I give you up. I have no understanding for 
you.""^ Then he flashed back into his own fiery and enthu- 
siastic tones, But I will paint her portrait — the beautiful 
English girl, in the freshness and the grace of her young 
womanhood, with the face of a kind angel and the figure 
of a queen. Ah! I will paint a picture. 

I thought it would please you,^^ said Tom, sim23ly. 
congratulated you when I did not know,'’^ said 
Baretti. Give me your hands again. Both hands. So. 
I know now, and I congratulate you again with . all my 
heart and soul.^^ 

Tom laughing and blushing again shook hands once 
more, and the theme dropped. The friends parted early, 
and the painter in his own room took out the work of the 
afternoon from his portmanteau, and afte^* looking at it 
fixedly for a long time, set the. edge of the pa^^er to the 
light of his candle, and burned it slowly into ashes. 

Carroll,^ ^ he said softly, in his own tongue, there is 
no slave in the world who belongs to a master as I belong 
to you. You made me, and you own me. I am all yours, 
now, and till I die.*^^ 


CHAPTER VI. 

Mr. Carroll the elder was not a man to put any light 
he might have under a bushel, and finding out by and by 
that it was a creditable sort of thing (or was so esteemed 
by those who surrounded him) to have an artist of Baretti^ s 
capacity on his premises, he took to showing him a good 
deal. Mr. CarrolPs world heard as much as enough of 
Mr. CarrolPs portrait, and the painter sometimes worked 
with a little court of county admirers round him. He be- 
came extremely popular with the county ladies, and might 
have had his head turned if he had chosen to believe one- 
twentieth part of the flattering things they told him. 

There are some spiritual maladies which can only be 
cured by being absolutely unmeddled with and left out of 
thought. Grief and hate and unauthorized love all be- 
long to this species, and a man or ^voman who tries con- 
tinually to discover how far the malady is abated or in- 


hearts: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 


55 


creased is out of the way to a cure. To examine the pas- 
sion is to feed its egotistical wish to be examined and 
thought about, and so to nurse its growth. Every passion 
. is in itself supremely selfish and exigent, and there are few 
that can not be starved into subjection by the mere cold- 
ness of neglect. Poor Baretti awoke to the conclusion that 
he was near to envying and hating his friend, and with alt 
. the desire in the world to escape from that terrible precipice 
of wickedness, he could not resist the temptation to hover 
about it, to ask himself how near he was — ^liow much nearer 
he might go — without falling over; how much longer he 
could stay at the edge before the heart-vertigo he dreaded 
should prompt him to throw himself headlong. To drop 
simile, and get back to plain dealing, he examined himself 
continually to see whether or not he were in love with his ' 
friend^s sweetheart, and found (as a natural consequence) ^ 
answers within himself which became more and more dan- ' 
gerous to his peace. 

Human nature is so hopelessly complex and contradic- 
tory that it is even possible that, but for Tom CarrolPs at- 
tachment to Mary, and the paintePs passionate desire to 
be faithful to his friend, Baretti might never have seriously 
fallen in love with her. He began to dread- himself and to " 
fear an admiration which, but for his fear of it, might 
have ended as a score of others had done before it. He “ 
did not begin to hate his friend, for so much wickedness 
could not find room in a heart so filled by simplicity and 
loyalty, but he did begin passionately to love his friend^’s _ 
affianced lover. The thing was always in his mind, and 
he began to be very unhappy, and to be so afraid of loving 
that by mere force of contemplation he loved. He was ^ 
wounded to begin with, and under constantly inquisitorial 
fingers the scratch festered and grew mortal. At last/ 
there is the truth of the whole matter, and conveyed in a 
simile after all. 

BarettPs portrait of his host was pronounced a fine 
work, alike by people who knew and people who did not 
know what they were talking about; and Mary Lording, 
who had seen the little man at work, and was more enthu- ^ 
siastic about his powers than anybody — ^being guided in 
that direction by her sweethearts opinion, and going far . 
beyond her leader, after woman '’s recognized fashion— was 
charmed at the idea of having her portrait painted by so 


56 


hearts: quee]S‘^ knave^ ahd deuce. 


gifted a personage. The painter himself in “the contem- 
plation of the task before him, began to wade in dangerous 
waters, and in a little while got washed off his feet 
altogether and was abandoned to the tide, on which he 
sometimes drifted deliciously, but oftener deliriously, and 
. oftener still in poignant misery of spirit. 

On a lovely autumn day, bright and dry, and keen with 
the breath of approaching winter, the accepted lover and 
his friend set out together on foot in the direction of Lord- 
ing^s house. Baretti^s painting tools had been sent on be- 
forehand, but there had been some little uncertainty about 
the day on which the first sitting should be given, and it 
was not quite a sure thing that the lady would be ready to 
receive them. Arrived at the house, they learned that she 
was somewhere in the grounds, and Tom, being not merely 
an accepted lover but an habitue of the place since boy- 
hood, went out in search of her, taking his friend with 
him. The grounds of Lording^s mansion were varied and 
extensive, and what with laurel- walks, rhododendron-walks, 
and walks sunken from the surrounding level to secure 
shelter in winter and shade in summer, there was ample 
opportunity foy a game at hide-and-seek. In the eager- 
ness of the chase Tom took the lead, and he was twenty 
yards in front of Baretti and at the end of a fine avenue of 
beeches, when he turned, and smilingly beckoned the 
painter on. The latter quickened his pace, and was just 
in time to see the smile of recognition and welcome which 
lit up Mary^s face at the sight of her lover. 

On the left side of the avenue, approached by a mean- 
dering path between two great trees, lay a secluded little 
dell. This dell being sheltered by the high foliage of the 
near trees, had kept for the most part a look of almost 
summer greenness, and the fiery hand of autumn had only 
kindled here and there a leaf. The moss which paved tlie 
place was a mere carpet of live emerald, and interlacing 
boughs above the lady^s head made a sort of natural arch- 
way. This was the only hour of the day at this season at 
which the sun-rays could pierce the higher leafage, and the 
whole place was beautifully dappled with light and shadow. 
At the end of the vista revealed by the opening boughs, lay 
a patch of richly cultured garden, bright with color; and 
nearer at hand, just where the arched foliage ended and the 
garden began, was a little fountain, whose one lithe and 


hearts: QUEEis^, KIS’AYE, AKD DEUCE. 57 

quivering jet sparkled in the sunlight, much as a gay- 
melody sparkles on hapj)y ears. 

But the most charming feature of this charming spot 
was^ of course, the girl who stood in it, smiling and radi- 
ant, like the day. Female loveliness is no doubt lovely in 
a cotton print, but when delicate fabrics of exquisite color 
have gone through the hands of an artist who knows his 
business, in days when fashion gives him a chance to be 
graceful, they can give beauty an extra charm. The dress 
she wore was simple enough to look at, but it became her 
almost subtly. She had been gathering flowers and ferns, 
and carried them in a basket in her gauntleted hands. 

There is no disputing matters of taste, and there are no 
doubt thousands of men who, allowing the girl to have been 
beautiful, would have gone by without recognizing an ap- 
proach to their ideal. It was enough for Tom that she was 
his, and it was more than enough for Baretti that she was 
his also. 

Can you give us a sitting?^ ^ asked Tom.gajdy, Ba- 
retti is here and ready. 

1 am here without doubt,^^ said Baretti, but I am 
not ready.-''' 

Iso?’’ asked Tom, turning upon him, why not?^^ 

I want this,^^ said Baretti somberly, to be a picture 
as well as a portrait. And I can not begin at once as if I 
were painting a house. Can I paint here to-day. Miss 
Lording?'^ he asked, or shall I carry my things back to 
Trench House?'^ 

There is a room in complete readiness,^^ said Mary, 
with a half puzzled look from Tom to the painter, but I 
thought you said that you did not want to begin to-day. 

^^Ido not want you to sit to-day,^-' said the painter 
brusquely. I want to sketch. I have an idea. Caii I 

gO?^' 

Certainly, said the girl. Tom j)ossessed himself of 
the basket, and they walked to the house together. Baretti 
did not speak until he found himself in the room set apart 
for him. 

I want to be alone, if you please, he said then, and 
began to push his easel about the room, and to raise and 
lower the blinds. I do not wish to be disturbed until I 
have done what is in my mind. It is now eleven o^clock. 


58 HEAETS: QUEEX, KISTAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 

then.-^^ He was very gloomy and quiet about all this, and 
Mary smiled at his exaggerated earnestness. Tom stayed 
a minute or two to chaft' his friend, but meeting with no 
response, he left the room and took away Mary with him. 

Being alone, the painter shut and locked the door, and 
taking a small mounted canvas, set it on the easel, he be- 
gan to work. For half an hour his face of gloom grew 
darker and darker, and then his changeful nature set him 
on a new tack, and he began to work smilingly. Then in 
a while he was gloomy once more, but he worked all the 
time like a man possessed by an idea. It was not long be- 
fore the idea began to declare itself. By swift and sure 
degrees there grew upon the canvas the figure of a girl who 
stood in a little green-floored dell, embraced by surround- 
ing boughs and bearing in her gloved hands a basket of 
tangled ferns and flowers. The distant garden began to 
smile in the sun, and the green flooring of the dell to dap- 
ple with light and shadow. 

There w^as a knock at the door and Tom CarrolFs voice 
was heard outside. 

May I come in?^^ 

'No/^ said the painter, without turning his head or 
pausing at his work. 

The bell has sounded for luncheon. 

I am not hungry,'’^ said Baretti; I shall not come to 
luncheon. Leave me alone. 

Tom retired, and the painter worked away. The face 
Avas merely indicated, and might have belonged to anybody 
or nobody, but the rest of the sketch had already something 
of a look of finish. Baretti lit a cigar and rested for a 
time, rising now and then to add a touch of color here and 
there. When his cigar was smoked through, he cast the 
stump into the grate and went on again. Not a bristle 
touched the canvas without definite intent, and he worked 
with prodigious rapidity and certainty, but with no hurry. 
The tints grew true, the eyes and lips began to smile, there 
came into the face beneath the magic kisses of the brush 
•the very look' of recognition and welcome he had seen four 
hours ago, the very figure looked as though it were about 
to move and to step from the canvas. j* 

The artist looked at his watch, laid down his tools, ^nd 
lit another cigar, pacing up and down the room as he 
smoked. Next, he sat and stared at his work from under 


hearts: queeh, ki^-ave, a^td deuce. 59 

gloomy brows until he detected a fault somewhere and 
U;rQse to amend it, and finding something else too lightly 
indicated, put in a masterly stroke or two of finish, and by 
these means became spurred into labor once again. The 
light was already growing dangerous to paint by when he 
finally laid down his palette and brushes and rang the bell. 

Tell your mistress and Mr. Carroll that I am ready, 
he said to the servant who answered this summons. The 
man retired obediently, and a minute or two later Mary 
and her lover and Papa Lording were heard laughing mer- 
rily together upon the stairs. Baretti stood back from his 
picture and stared at it solemnly with his hands in the 
pockets of his velvet jacket and his head drooping slightly 
forward, and in that attitude they found him. 

Man of whims/'’ said Tom, what is it? Mary! Mr. 
Lording! Come here. Baretti, you are a wonder of 
miracles. 

The three stood before the work in amazement and ad- 
miration. Its effects were necessarily broad, but there was 
no hint of coarseness in its handling, and the colors were 
like nature^s own. A rival painter might have discounted 
admiration a little, but there was no rival painter there, 
and the trio broke into unmeasured praises. The painter 
with his head still drooping forward and his hands in his - 
jacket-pockets accepted their enthusiasm with an air of 
almost melodramatic gloom. He was genuinely unhappy 
now — more self-distrustful than ever, with more reason. 
He declined Lording ^s invitation to dinner, and in spite of 
pressure, went away alone to lock himself in his bedroom 
- at Trench House, and brood over his own astonishing wick- 
edness and the charms of his dearest friend ^s affianced wife. 

‘‘ Baretti,^ ^ said Tom, as he sat at the table with Mary 
and her father, is a man of genius, and as everybody 
knows, men of genius have moods. I suppose he had 
worked everything out of him in that splendid inspiration, ’ 
and felt fit for nothing afterward. Small wonder if he 
did.^^ 

His conlpanions took that view of the case also, and 
not even the girl, as yet, began to suspect the truth. But, - 
meantime, the little man was exceedingly bitter with him- 
self, and yet, for his soul, he could not resist the ever-re- .. 
turning vision of the girPs face and figure. Though he . 
turned it out of mental doors a thousand times, it came 


60 hearts: quee^^^ khaye^ axd deuce. 

back again^ beautiful^ smiling^ unconscious. And he had 
vowed eternal faith and friendship to the man who had 
saved him, and who had an unassailable claim on all this 
loveliness. He tried to sootlie himself by the casuistry 
natural to his surroundings. He could love without wish- 
ing to possess — but his heart cried out in indignation 
against that folly. It went through him like a knife when 
he thought of her in Tomb’s arms, and fancied Tom^s 
kisses on her lips. At least, he could love and be quiet; 
but again, at the thought, the future seemed to rise before 
him like a blank wall. And the more he chafed and argued 
the more his fiery longing grew, till his southern blood, 
hot enough by nature, reached almost to boiling point, 
and he saw how dangerous he was growing. You may 
guess from what you know already that resolution was not 
his strong point. ]^o resolute man would have gone mider 
as he did on such poor compulsion, and if there was any- 
thing to save him now it must be something outside him- 
self. 

After all,^^ he said, to die of thirst in the desert, 
whilst you watch your friend^ s only glass of water is a hard 
thing no doubt, but it is not stealing the water. 

He sought whatever safeguard he could think of. 
Amongst them was the difference between Miss Lording 
position and his own. Love her as much as he chose, even 
if she had been free, she would not have looked at him. 
Then, in face of that refiection, he began to dream of fame 
and fortune, and he saw himself as a new Titian, the ac- 
knowledged king of art in his own day, living in a house 
like a palace, and surrounded by social courtiers. But of' 
all possible safeguards he felt that there was none like this 
friendship; and though his inward panegyrics on Tom Car- 
roll were forced and less natural than they used to be, he 
had recourse to them and magnified Tom'^s service, and 
minified his own chances without that splendid friend and 
helper, until he began to experience a dawning sense of se- 
curity. How could he be faithless to such a friend, even 
in fancy — even in a dream? 

It was pretty late at night when Tom knocked at Ba- 
re tti^s door. The painter admitted him, and shook hands 
in silence. Tom was quite radiant and full of high spirits, 
and he must needs rally the small man of genius about 
his moods. 


- HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAYE^ AiTD DEUCE. 61 

What a droll fellow you are, Baretti! To-day, deeper 
sunk than plummet ever sounded; to-morrow soaring sky- 
high, and breaking your sublime head against the stars. 
But that^s the penalty you pay for being a man of genius, 
and an Italian. Come into my den, my lion, and have a 
quiet smoke and a talk. 

Very well,^^ said Baretti, with a more lowering face 
than ever; and having replenished his fire, and blown out 
the candles on the mantel-shelf, he followed. Tonies room 
was bright with firelight and lamplight, and its gay owner, 
talking voluble nothings, bustled about it, drawing cur- 
tains and pushing chairs near the fire. Talking still, he 
explored on his hands and knees the lower shelves of' a 
locker, and arose with an aspect almost tragic. 

Not a spot of liquor in the shipF'^ "he said. Wait a 
bit, whilst I go and look up Johnson. The governor '’s in 
bed, and I don^t want to ring.'^^ 

Baretti nodded, and setting his arms on the mantel-piece, 
between the lamps that burned softly at either end, stared 
drearily at his own features in the mirror, without con- 
sciously seeing them. Tom Carroll was away .so long that 
the little man forgot him. 

So,^'’ he said to himself, this is the end of my pre- 
tenses of gratitude. It looked inexpressibly dark and 
ugly to him as he faced it in his own mind. No, no, 
no. They shall not end in this way. As he moved with 
his Italian swiftness of gesture in answer to the movement 
of his soul, the motion was reflected m the mirror and . 
drew his eye to the duplicate of his own figure there. He 
looked at it darkly for a minute, and shook a menacing 
finger at it. You!^^ he said fierily and disdainfully. 

You!^^ The reflection shook back at him a finger as 
threatening and as disdainful as his own. I tell you, 
he said, that you shall not moan about this, that you 
shall not admit to your own heart that it lives, that you 
shall carry it away and bury it, deep, deep, deep — do you 
hear?^^ The mockery of his features in the glass faced 
him and seemed to answer him, I shall have trouble with 
you,^'’ he went on apostrophizing the reflection. You 
will mock me and storm back at me when I storm. You 
can not be happy? You? Then it remains, my poor fool- 
ish friend, to be unhappy, and still be a man. And you 
shall be as unhappy as you choose, but you shall not have 


62 


HEAETS: QUEE]^, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


one memory of a thought to curse you for having proved 
unfaithful. 

Tom^s foot kicked gently at the door, and Baretti an- 
swering to the summons, admitted *his friend, who bore a 
bottle in either hand and one under each arm. 

Practicing for the stage?^^ asked Tom, laughingly. 

said Baretti, turning lightly round. But I 
never shall be rid of my Italian accent. 

There is not much that is un-English in your accent, 
answered Tom, setting down his bottles; but your action 
is altogether alien. You dart about like a parched pea in 
a pan. We English stand solid and lumpish while we 
speak. Now ^ speak a piece,^ as the Yankees say, and I 
will drill you. Something English. 

Danish will do,^^ said the painter, with no responsive 
smile, and he declaimed with his arms hanging at his sides, 
and his whole figure stiffly set, Give me the man that 
is ]iot passion^ s slave. But here on a sudden he cast his 
arms wildly in the air and made a rush at the impassive 
Tom, crying — And I will hold him in my heart of hearts 
— as I do thee!^^ 

Something too much of this,^^ said Tom, completing 
the line, and shaking Baretti ^s hands away from his with a 
gesture that had nothing unfriendly in it. This is less 
English than ever. We must train you by duller methods. 
Let us try the prosiest of prose to begin with. * Eepeat me 
one of Euclid^ s axioms. 

A straight line,^^ said Baretti, marking the straight 
line in the air with a rapid forefinger, “ is the shortest road 
between two points. And outstretched both forefingers 
at the end of the imaginary line, to illustrate the position 
of the points. 

You are hopeless,^ ^ said Tom, laughing. A man 
who gesticulates over Euclid will gesticulate over anything 
— over everything. I wonder, he added with sudden 
seriousness, whether you southern people feel as keenly 
as you seem to feel. It seems to an Englishman — you 
donT mind my saying this, Baretti, do you? — that the 
Italian manner indicates — indicates — What’s the word? 
Not insincerity?” 

No,” cried the painter, almost fiercely, not tliat. ” 

No,” said Tom, holding out a hand to beseech quiet, 
not that — but — a certain brevity of duration in sincerity. 


hearts: QUEEis^, Kis^AYE, AND DEUCE. 63 

A flash and over. An intense appreciation of anything 
and everything whilst it lasts. Your passions, fancies^ 
likings, rages, are all like lightning. You live by light- 
ning with the flash always coming and going. 

Baretti shook his head. 

There is steady Are enough in an Italian's heart, he 
answered, with a somber nod, to warm your hands at. I 
will give you another reason for the flashes you speak of. 
If you have a dull, steady, slow-burning fire, and you 
throw any trifle into it, any bit of stick or straw, you 
have a little flame which rises and dies. But you do not 
say that the Are is out, though it looks dull by contrasty, 
when your wretched little bit of stick is flnished. Hu- 
man nature is human nature all the world over, only you 
show your emotions like an oyster, and I like a — like a — 
Grasshopper,^^ suggested Tom. 

That will do,^^ said Baretti, with perfect gravity. 

He is a sunny little creature who loves warm weather^ 
and he moves briskly and he sings though his tunes are all 
very like one another.'’^ 

And yours are not,^^ answered Tom; ‘^for you are 
Variety's Epitome.'’^ 

There is no deep-rooted distrust of Italy in all this, is 
there, Carroll asked the painter, with a pretense of badi- 
nage. What am I? A butterfly little fellow, eh? 
Eluttering, hovering, here, there, no staying, no resting^ 
no stamina inside to make me want to rest and stay.^^ 

No, no,'’^ said Tom; I donT read you so badly.^^ 
You do not think that I could not make my mind up 
to do a painful thing, which would take a long time, and 
be painful all the while 

No,'’^ said Tom, lightly enough; why should I?^^ 

I do not want an answer of that sort,^^ said the artist 
with a Aery sweep of his right arm. ^^-Do you believe of 
me that for the sake of principle, or for the sake of a 
friend — for you, for instance — I would do something hard 
to do? That it is in me to do it? In a word, that I am a 
man of principle, and not an insect of impulse ?^^ 

Granted, cried Tom, in some surprise at his com- 
panion's heat. Granted, every word.'^^ 

You mean that?^^ 

I mean it.*^^ 

From your soul?^-^ demanded the Italian, vehemently. 


64 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

I believe it honestly,^ ^ answered the Briton, with gen- 
ial stolidity. 

It vdll be better for me and for you,^"" answered Baret- 
ti, that you do believe it.'’^ 

I^m very glad to hear it,^^ said Tom, lightly. 

Whisky or Burgundy, old man?^^ Baretti cast at him a 
glance of rage, and threw up his hands. 

Oh, you English! you English Tom laughed. Ba- 
retti was so much in earnest about trifles that Tom took 
, nine tenths of his talk with a cent. 23cr cent, dilution. In 
his iiiinost heart he thought an Englishman the only solid 
and responsible creature in the world. 

Carroll,^'’ said Baretti, I am uncomfortable. I am 
in want of something, and I think it is music. Play some- 
thing to me. ^ ^ 

All right,^^ said Tom. The governor's bedroom is 
on the other side of the house, luckily, I sha^n^t disturb 
him. Tom took up his violin and began to play. 

Stop,^^ cried Baretti, two or three minutes later; I 
am out of tune. Your loveliest melodies caterwaul to me. 
I do not care for Mozart any more than if I were a Carib. 
Put it away, or play to yourself, if you will, and I will say 
good-night. Good-night, Carroll, good-night. Tom 
tried to dissuade him from going, but he stood with both 
hands outstretched, for a farewell, and a strange smile on 
his face. The jDlayer laid down his instrument and took 
both the outstretched hands in his, shook them, and 
dropped them gayly. The artist went without another 
word, and having locked the door of his own room and 
stirred the smoldering fire, he relighted his candles, and, 
- with his elbows siaread broad upon the mantel-piece, fell to 
staring at his own reflection. He had stood for a long 
time, when he murmured to himself — 

Not one base word of Carthage on my soul!’^ Then 
he suddenly blew out the candle, so that but for the glow 
of the fire the room was dark. Good-night,^ ^ he said 
softly, good-night, Carroll. Best man and dearest friend, 
good-night. It is not the dog you fed who will bite you. 
It is not the heart you gave its only hope to that will envy 
you.^^ 

He sunk into a chair beside the fire, and watched the 
glow until it faded and died. Gray ashes were sprinkled, 
slowly, slowly, on the heads of faces in the fire, and glow- 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


65 


ing features crumbled one by one until all had gone the 
way to dusty death, and he was staring blindly at the 
darkness. 


CHAPTEE VII. 

Next morning, when Mr. Carroll and Tom and Baretti 
were at breakfast together. Master Tom, who had a consid- 
erable little pile of letters before him, opened one of them, 
and suddenly rising from his seat, began to caper about 
the room and to sing and snap his fingers. 

Thomas,^^ said Mr. Carroll, with a voice- of displeas- 
ure, “ pray compose yourself. 

Bead that,'’^ said Tom, throwing the letter on the ta- 
ble, and stooping to right his fallen chair. IsnH that 
magnificent?^^ 

Mr. Carroll, with his gold-rimmed double ej^eglasses on 
the bridge of his nose and his head thrown back a little, 
read the letter which had so delighted his son. 

This pleases you?^^ he asked, when he had gone through 
it. He held the glasses in one hand, and the note in tlie 
other, and tapped them together lightly as he spoke. 

This pleases you?^"^ 

Certainly,^^ said Tom, whose face was already much 
less radiant; it is the greatest honor I could have hoped 
for.^^ 

“ M-m,^^ said Mr. Carroll, putting up the glasses once 
more. I should scarcely have construed it so. You will 
answer the — ah — the gentleman who writes this in the af- 
firmative?^^ 

Why, my dear father, said Tom, in a little dismay, 

I never was so proud in my life. IPs a letter from 
Hoffmann, Baretti,'’^ he went on, turning to his friend. 

They Ye going to play my ‘ Dream of Venice ^ at Hoff- 
mann Y Wednesday Concerts, and Hoffmann wants to know 
if I will conduct in person. 

It is a splendid opportunity,^^ said Baretti. It is a 
high honor. I congratulate you, Carroll, with my whole 
heart. 

Mr. Carroll drew out his snuff-box, tapped it twice or 
thrice, and put it back again. 

Very well, Tom,^^ he said, handing back the note 
again, I trust that I can rely upon you to do nothing 


66 HEARTS: QUEEH, KHAVE, AHI) DEUCE. 

which will endanger my respect. You belong to your world 
and I to mine, and I suppose we shall not convince each 
other. 

There are to be two rehearsals/^ said Tom, who was 
so checked in the full flow of his spirits by his father^ s 
manner that he was fain to hide^ his embarrassment by a 
pretended reperusal of the letter, and Hoffmann wants 
me to be present at them. The first is in a week^s time. 
Shall 3^ou begin the portrait to-day, Baretti?^^ 

Yes,^^ said Baretti, to-day. You will come with 
me?^^ Tom assented, and the two finished breakfast in si- 
lence. Mr. Carroll betook himself to the library, carrying 
his letters with him, and before the two young fellows left 
the house they heard him ride away to attend some meet- 
ing of the justices in the neighboring town. 

ITl tell you what it is, Baretti,^^ said Tom, my fa- 
therms a sort of survival. He is a man of the old school, 
and is slow to imbibe the modern feeling about art. You 
know how new that feeling is in EnglandP^^ He was ob- 
viously afraid lest Baretti should feel in his own person the 
lash of Mr. Carroll ^s scorn of the artistic classes. The lit- 
tle man nodded back to him, with a singular smile, won- 
derfully affectionate and gentle. 

Yes,mm he replied, quietly, “ it»is hard to surrender the 
opinions of a life-time. He spoke with so little of his 
common vivacity that Tom noticed it, even in the midst 
of the preoccupation of his own annoyance. They were in 
the lane together on the way to Beech Tree Hall, and the 
artist was walking with his eyes upon the ground. 

What is the matter, BarettiP^^ asked Tom, with a hand 
on his friend^s shoulder. You are changed. 

I will tell you the plain truth, said the artist, pausing 
in his walk. ‘‘ You must not laugh at me,^^ he went on, 
looking upward, with a blush, but I am homesick. It 
is three years since I last saw my native Naples, and then 
I stayed but for a week. There is nobody left,^^ he contin- 
ued, sadly, but the place is there, and I must see it again 
and live in my own air for a time. 

That^s natural enough,^^ said Tom. • When do you 
want to gopmm 

I shall finish this portrait, answered Baretti, “ and 
then I shall go away at once.mm 

You won^t stay longp^^ Tom asked. 


hearts: queen^ K^q-AVE^, and deuce. G7 

I can not tell/’ replied Baretti, ^^biit I will promise 
one thing. If you will let me know when you are going to 
be married, I will come back in time."^^ 

A bargain said Tom, gayly. 

A bargain,^ ^ echoed the painter, very well.^^ A 
fortnight in the poisoned sunshine of her presence and then 
blank darkness. In all ages young men and young women 
have found lovers dream look thus real and thus life-like. 

Tom told his good news to his sweetheart and her father, 
and found ready sympathy and congratulation. 

But, Tom, my lad,''^said Lording, drawing him on 
one side, what^s going to become of the portrait? A^ou 
won^t take Baretti with you? When you are gone he^ll be 
lonely. Let him come over here. 1^11 ask two or three 
people to come down and- stay whilst he^s here. Eh?^^ 

This promised to be something of a relief to Tom, who, 
now that he came to think of it, saw clearly enough that 
Baretti would hardly be comfortable if left to the sole 
society of Carrol! senior. So the Fates arranged between 
them that Antonio Baretti should be proved. He had no 
excuse for declining, and his perturbation on being asked 
was taken to express no more than a little shyness. He 
was so afraid of the real cause of his unwillingness being 
guessed that he made next to no resistance, and before 
work was begun that morning the thing was settled. On 
the day before Tom^s departure for London, Baretti was 
to take up his abode at Lording^s house, and stay there 
until the portrait was finished. Then everybody was to go 
up together to witness Tom^s triumph at the concert — for, 
of course, nobody thought success doubtful — and Baretti, 
after the concert, was to start for his native Naples. 

Miss Lording had an easy time of it, and Baretti scarcely 
called upon her. He was not morose, as he had been on 
the previous day, but his manner was subdued and soft- 
ened. Mary felt herself surrounded by a novel and pleas- 
ing atmosphere. The smell of Baretti^s paints was an 
ingredient in it, but that was inevitable and easily endured, 
and it was surely nice to have awakened an artistes artistic 
enthusiasm as she knew she had awakened those of the 
Italian, and to have her affianced lover there to pet or 
tease as she would — ^bv signs so slight as not to be detected 
by two of the quartet present. Lording was proud of his 
daughter and proud of Tom, and proud of Baretti, and 


68 hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 

was generally in High feather. For Baretti this morning 
there was a sort of luxury in resignation. He had com- 
plete faith in his renunciation of the night before. There 
was no more need for resolution, and he had simply to be 
passive and to let time drift him along as rapidly as might 
be until he coidd go away and begin to forget. 

There was a piano in the room, and Tom sat down to it 
now and again and played a snatch of music. Lording 
watched the work of painting with a child-like interest, and 
Mary moved about gayly in the long and frequent intervals 
of liberty the artist accorded her. Once or twice she came 
so near to Baretti in her innocent ignorance, and stood 
watching the work so close behind him, that although no 
portion of her dress so much as touched him, her nearness 
was like an embrace, under which every sense of his frame 
and every faculty of his mind seemed to swoon. When she 
posed for him, sometimes gravely and sometimes over- 
brimming with gayety, and he met the steadfast uncon- 
scious look of her lovely eyes, or saw the laughter of a 
young and innocent nature there, and the gladness of a 
beautiful harmless vanity, he felt as if he were sinking into 
some lovely perfumed dream to die. And all the while he 
went on working with a singular consciousness of power 
over his materials and his theme. Niagara was three weeks 
olf, and the passage along the Eapids was endurable. The 
position was not a new one. 

The most admirable and becoming arrangements are 
made by consent of society at large for the prevention of 
unaccompanied meetings between young men and young 
women, notwithstanding which, young men and young 
women continue to meet without the society of their elders, 
to plan marriages of which those elders would righteously 
disapprove, and generally to conduct themselves as tlieir 
elders did before them, and Avould again, if they were 
young again. But since her mother^ s death none of those 
arrangements had been in force in the case of Mary Lord- 
ing, and she had known and enjoyed a freedom to which 
most girls of her age and station are strangers. It fol- 
lowed in her case — though naturally enough it might not 
follow in all cases — that she looked on young men with a 
sort of sense of brotherhood and camaraderie^ that she 
was not in the least afraid of them’^r abashed before tliem. 
It was true enough that they made love sometimes, and 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


69 


that (except in one special case) had always been disagree- 
able. Now of course nobody Would dare to make love to 
her, and freedom was made freer than ever by that reflec- 
tion. She would have associated herself quite fearlessly 
with any nice young fellow of reasonable position and ante- 
cedents who happened to come to her knowledge by any of 
the recognized roads, and in Baretti^s case she was pre- 
possessed in half a dozen different ways. He was her 
lover^s dearest friend — ^he was a young man (in Tom^s be- 
lief, and therefore in hers also) of the most transcendent 
genius— he was handsome and charming, and a foreigner 
— and — ^he had given very signal proof of enthusiasm about 
her portrait. Now, if you and I believed that a great art- 
ist was enthusiastic in his desire to commemorate our 
charming faces and figures, we should naturally have a 
good opinion of* that artistes discernment, and should feel 
friendly toward him. 

A profound melancholy laid its hand upon the artist 
when he was not at work, and this helped to make him in- 
teresting. He took interest in nothing that did not con- 
cern his art, except by fits, when he broke into vivid mo- 
mentary enthusiasm and flashed back again into a gloom 
from which nothing could rouse him. He avoided all 
society when he was able, and though he strove to do it 
naturally and as if it were always the result of accident, 
the girl saw that he specially avoided her. This piqued 
her, and set her, with a woman^s love of conquest, to van- 
quish hi«' shyness and his desire for loneliness. So there 
came to be added to the little man^s torments a dreadful 
sweet fear which brought temptation in its train. He was 
not a vain man, over and above the common, but it came 
into his heart one day to ask if the girl were drifting toward 
him as he had drifted toward her. If that were so he felt 
himself doomed, and there was an awful throb of joy at 
the fear. 

If his melancholy had been at all of the stagey sort, 
Mary would have been one of the first young women in the 
world to laugh at him. But it was so real, so obviously 
unaffected, and so little obtrusive, that it not only piqued 
her into a desire to overcome the shyness whiclr sprung 
from it, but extorted so^ pity from her as well. 

Had Tom Carroll guSed what he was leaving behind 
him he might have declined Herr Holfmann^s flattering 


70 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


offer. To leave the only woman who had ever breathed a 
woixi of love to him (for ’they got so far by this time at 
odd moments) and the dearest friend in the world in her 
society could scarcely seem unsafe to so generous and can- 
did a nature. And^ indeed, it does sometimes happen that 
a man^s best friends do not betray him, and that a sweet- 
heart is true. He went off with a light heart, and nine 
tenths of his ambition seemed already realized in fancy. 
To live a mere country gentleman^ s life, with no interest 
outside that narrow sphere^ had seemed ignoble to him 
from his boyhood, and this one chance seemed to open up 
to him the whole world of art ambition, and with a fore- 
running enthusiasm which belongs to ardent young men of 
talent he felt like a Gounod or a Verdi already. 

The great Herr Hoffmann received him politely, for a 
wonder, and the rehearsals passed away without memorable 
accident. Cousin Mark called at Number Twenty, Mon- 
tague Gardens, and made himself agreeable in his own 
way. 

“I have found a new profession,^ ^ said Mark. ^‘It 
pays iust as well as the old one. Nothing a year, and pay 
your own expenses. 

Profitable, said Tom lounging in his arm-chair at the 
fireside. 

Isn^t it?^^ said Mark, with his own cheerful and amia- 
ble smile. I am teaching the charming signora to talk 
English. 

What charming signora?^ ^ Tom demanded. The 
memory of Signor Malfi and his mate had long since left 
him. Mark recalled him to the circumstance of their en- 
counter. 

I find it useful to know them,^^ said Mark, with his 
customary candor. A poor devil like me has to fish for 
profitable acquaintances. You were born with a golde]i 
spoon in your mouth, and I don^t suppose you ever knew 
Avhat it was to want a fiver in your life. By — ! Tom, I 
believe that of all the hard-up men in London, I am king 
and captain. 

Well,^^ said Tom, with a rather fatuous good-nature, 
‘‘ you kno^ where to come to. Mark laughed. 

I sha^n^t leave you till IVe^^'ained you dry,^^ he said. 
“ I shall never pay you even if ffim able, for I am by nat- 
ure an ungrateful dog, and gratitude has always seemed to 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KXAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 71 

me, to tell you the honest truth, the most absurd and mis- 
guided of all human sentiments. But if you will oblige 
me with a tenner — 

Tom laughed responsive, and obliged him on the spot. 

If ever anybody asks you for a testimonial of char- 
acter,^^ said Tom, don^t offer it yourself. Send him to 
me.^^ 

My dear fellow, returned Mark, still smiling, that 
sort of thing pays. If you proclaim yourself virtuous no- 
body believes you. Everybody knows that all the men are 
liars, and nobody believes anybody. Now I tell the truth 
about myself, and nobody believes 

Now, you know, Mark;^^ said Tom, who was amused 
by all this, that^s not a pretty sentiment. 

Don^t come to me for pretty sentiments, Mark an- 
swered. *^^1 am the only man I ^ ever knew who wasnT 
either a liar or a fool. Now, you don^t like to own it, but 
you know that ninety-nine parts in a hundred of all the 
talk about virtue and honor and public spirit are pure and 
unadulterated humbug. When you want to hear the truth 
about a man, go to his enemies. TheyTl tell you how de- 
graded his motives are. If you want the truth about Glad- 
stone read the high Tory journals. If you want the truth 
about Disraeli read the low Eadical papers. . 

Somebody says,^^ Tom responded, that the only .way 
to understand a man is to love him.^^ 

What a rule for a British jury with a knotty case of 
murder! No, no. The true rule of life is to think every 
man guilty until he proves himself innocent. Then you 
can admire his skillfulness of fence and distrust him all 
the more.^^ 

At this Tom fairly broke into laughter, and Mark, with 
his hand stretched out toward his wine-glass anld his cigar 
half-way from his lips, laughed back at him quite gayly. 

IWe got what I want,^^ said Mark, emptying his glass 
and rising, and now ITl go. I have to give the charm- 
ing signora her English lesson this afternoon. Do you feel 
inclined for a walk?^^ 

Yes,^^ said Tom, and in a minute or two, well coated, 
the cousins were in the crisp, wintery open air. 

Tom thought little en<wh of Markus rhodomontade. It 
was Markus habit to proi® cynicism, and the easy-going 
youngster, his cousin, with his kindly thoughts about all 


72 


HEAETS: QUEEIT, KNAYE^ AND DEUCE. 


people^ and his amiable heart, would have found it difficult 
to believe that any man really cared to regulate his life by 
such a creed. But such conscience as Mark had was 
soothed by the candor of his discourse, though he admitted 
that even whilst he spoke the truth he expected nobody to 
believe him. 

It was not a very honest exposition of his own character 
after all, but if, with the plain truth staring them in the 
face, people refused to believe in it, was that Markus fault? 
« I don^t know,^^ said Mark, as they walked, whether 
I am or not a particularly brilliant teacher, but if I am not 
I have an especially brilliant pupil. You remember when 
we met that woman? She didn^t know a score of English 
words, upoji my honor, and now she can understand a lot 
that^s said to her, and she chatters away in a surprising 
manner. Come in with me and hear her. She^s amus- 
ing.^" 

No, thank you,^^ said Tom. 

You will, though,^^ answered Mark, and Fll tell you 
why. Malfi has got all the tenor music of Hoffmann^ s new 
opera. He^s a slow poor sort of creature, and it takes him 
a month to learn a tune. The charming signora plays with 
one finger — for he doesiiT know a note and she^s not much 
better — and they hammer it out in that way between 
them. He has learned half a dozen of the airs now, and 
sings them decently. HeTl be grateful if a swell pianist 
like yourself will give him a turn, and I^m sure youdl like 
the music. 

ITl go for that,^^ said Tom, though I wouldnT for 
the broken English. 

The charming signora,^ ^ pursued Mark, has learned 
English enough alre^y under my tuition, to venture on 
taking English music pupils. 

“ And she plays with one finger ?^^ said Tom. 

“ Oh, that^s my playful way of putting it. She^s a bad 
enough pianist, but not quite so bad as that. I wrote an 
advertisement for her a week ago, for pupils, and sent it to 
the ‘ Times. ’ 

When they reached the house in which Signor Malfi had 
apartments the piano was in full swing, and a powerful 
soprano voice was screaming i^ravura. The powerful 
soprano left off in the middle, am the accompaniment re- 
verting to the beginning, another voice took up the air. 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 73 

No, no, no, no, no,^^ the signora^s voice was heard 
crying. Like zis,^^ and the powerful voice began to 
scream again. 

Keren's a pupil, said Mark, the first fruits of the 
advertisement, no doubt. The pupil began to sing again, 
and Tom held up a finger to ask for silence. There was a 
look of perplexity on his face. What^s the matter?^^ 
asked his cousin. 

That^s odd,^"" said Tom. ITl bet anything I know 
that voice. They were within the house, and waiting for 
the operatic ten‘or in the next room to that in which the 
lesson was being given. I am sure of the voice,^-^ said 
Tom, I canH be mistaken. 

Whose is it?^^ Mark demanded, but at that instant the 
signor entered. 

We are indebted to you. Signor Carroll,^^ said he to 
Mark; the advertisement has already secured a pupil, an 
English miss. It was a good thought, and it will occupy, 
Caterina in my absence. I have engagements in Paris and 
Vienna, but she has not, and will remain here. There is a 
voice The screaming soprano was turned on again. 

For volume and compass it is unrivaled in Europe. Yet 
the managers will not engage her.-^'' 

The singer was disposed to be voluble on this matter, 
and he talked until Tom (knowing nothing of the language 
in which the conversation was conducted) strolled to the 
window, and, staring out on the street, fell into a day- 
dream. He was startled from it by the sudden slamming 
of the street door, and a second later he saw a familiar fig- 
ure — the figure of a girl whose skirts were blowing pict- 
uresquely in the wind, and who bore a roll of music in her 
hand. 

Look here, Mark,^^ he cried. Isn^t that little 
Azubah Moore? You know! The little girl at the farm 
at home? We used to play with her when we were lads, 
together. 

By Jove, it is!^^ cried Mark, as the girl turned for a 
moment to face the wind and rearrange her dress. 

That is Caterina^s pupil, said the Italian, making an 
easy shot at the purport of their talk. She will never 
sing. She has not the ^lume or the dbmpass.''^ 

What does he say ?^^ asked Tom, and Mark translated. 
ThaPs a matter of opinion, said Tom, nodding his 


74 HEAKTS: QUEEN, IvNAYE, AND DEUCE, 

head sagely, and all the same, I’d sooner hear her than 
that railway whistle in the next room. What on earth 
made a singer marry a woman with a voice like that?” 

Marry?” cried Mark, smilingly. He’s no more 
married than I am. Buono giorno. Signora Malfi, ” said 
Mark, as the lady entered, and he advanced to meet her 
with outstretched hands. 


CHAPTEK VIIL 

The time of Baretti’s stay was coming to an end, and 
the portrait was all but finished. Tom was back in the 
country and was over every day to look at the growing 
beauties of the picture, not being unmindful in the 
meantime of the charms of the picture’s original. If there 
might have been found in all broad England a happy man, 
that man was Tom Carroll. As he rode or walked between 
his father’s house and Lording’s on those bright mornings 
and bracing nights, his heart welled over with joy, and he 
caroled in tlie lonely lanes like a throstle. A good heart, 
a good digestion, lots of money, ambitions opening, a 
sweetheart beautiful and kind, and the dearest friend man 
ever had in the world — w^hat more might he desire? 

And all the while love and friendship were fighting in 
Baretti’s heart, and making wild work of it there. The 
little man was sensitive of honor, and all his intensest 
desires and the secret hopes he tried to ignore were dis- 
honorable. 

Mary knew of his approaching departure from England, 
and sometimes spoke of it, not knowing the pain she gave 
him. Baretti was at work on the last Monday morning of 
his stay, and he was touching and retouching the ripened 
beauties of his picture with a lingering hand and a heart 
disposed to linger. From the canvas, the work of liis own 
hands smiled upon him with how perfect a beauty! What 
is old Fairfax’s verse? 

“ Her hand, her foot, her vesture’s hem, 

Muse, touch not for polluting them. 

All that is hers is clear, pure, holy.” 

His brush kissed her shoe upon the canvas as his lips would 
have felt it too bold to do in fact. The best worship he 


HEAETS: QUEEIT^ KKAVE^ Al^D DEUCE. 75 

could offer her seemed to soil her^ for not only his love but 
his friendship made her sacred. A double passion made 
her doubly inaccessible, even to his thoughts, and yet his 
thoughts were rebels to his will and would assail her. And 
she sat there the while, chatting and smiling, stooping to 
the friendliest intimacy, and holding him miles and miles 
away. ^ 

‘^Mr. Carroll tells nie,^^ she said, that you have no^ 

friends left in Naples. j 

None,^^ he answered. j 

And yet you suffer from homesickness? Do you love ; 
the place so much?^^ He shook his head and answered 
without looking at her. 

I have a double reason for going. But the reason I 
have given is light beside the reason I have not given. 
She did not answer to this enigma, but looked at him with 
inquiring interest. A duty calls me there. I can say 
nothing of it, except that it is a duty and a hard one. But 
in this world one does not always what is pleasant. Fate 
brings you nasty mixtures and does not care for your wry 
faces. 

No,^^ she said assentingly. His sadness and his resig- 
nation touched her, and her tone was caught from his. 

There is a friend of mine,^^ he went on, mixing a deli- 
cate tint upon his palette, and keeping his glance resolutely 
fixed upon it, who did me a great service. I made a 
promise to him in return. He does not know of it yet, but 
I know that it is a thing of life and death to him that I 
should keep my promise now. I lose nothing by it, but 
there are circumstances which make it hard to keep.^^ 

He had thought when he began that he could trust him- 
self to say so much and no more, but a sudden terror fell 
upon him lest he should betray his secret. He stopped ab- ' 
ruptly, and began to paint almost blindfold. There was a 
silence for a minute or two|, and then he discovered that 
his work was going wrong, and he busied himself in re- 
storing it. 

I must not pry into your secrets, Mr. Baretti,^^ she 
said, after this pause, but it is easy to see that you do not 
like the task you are taking upon yourself. Are you quite 
sure that duty calls you to it?^ ^ 

My way is plain,^^he answered. In an Englishman 
his manner might have looked a little overdramatic here. 


76 HEARTS: QUEEK^ KHAYE, AHD DEUCE. 

but it was so evidently real in him that it passed for pure 
nature^ as it was. I am bound by every tie of honor and 
of friendship. He began to feel a glow of strength and 
hope even as he spoke : ‘ ^ And if I were what a inan should 
be, I should not even feel a regret at doing it. When I am 
in my right mind I shall be glad that I have done it. It 
will be very disagreeable to do, and I am like a child who 
ns offered medicine. That is all.''^ 

^ Your friend does not know yet that he needs your serv- 
ices she asked. If Mary Lording had only known it, 
she herself was going on a dangerous road. Her accepted 
lover, whom she had known all her life, and for whom she 
had a most sincere and tender friendship, had never inter- 
ested her as Baretti did. But she had no time just now to 
stop and analyze. 

He will not know,^^ said the painter, turning his face 
upon her. She read a look of exaltation there which it was 
impossible for any man to have feigned. The flashing eyes 
and handsome face were transfigured by that emotion of 
friendship and the strength of soul by which he repelled 
temptation. He would only know that he had needed 
me and that I had broken faith if I did not keep my word. 
And he is a friend so true, with a heart so honest and 
kind, that when I think that I have been afraid to be a 
little uncomfortable when I do my duty, I am ashamed — 
ashamed. 

She had never seen him in any such mood before. 
Whatever the duty he had set himself might be, it was 
plain enough that it entailed more than a little discomfort, 
and his single-heartedness roused her to a momentary flush 
of enthusiasm. 

We shall all be sorry to lose you, Mr. Baretti,^^ she 
said, but not one of your friends will ask you to linger 
when you have such an errand. And she held out her 
hand like a queeii. Baretti dropped his brush, accepted 
the proffered hand, and bowed above it. She shook hands 
frankly like a man, and returned to her seat. Baretti 
picked up the fallen brush, and went on working, but she 
saw suddenly that he was as pale as death, and somehow, 
whether by instinct or by chance, she read his fable through 
and through, not as if by a guess, but as if by the light of 
absolute certainty. 

She was conscious enough of her beauty, and was little 


77 


heaets:-q^e^:n, kit aye, akd deuce. 

to be blamed upon that score^ foi% apart from the innocent 
vanity which leads young people to think well of their own 
attractions^, she had had hers so dinned into her ears by 
lovers who languished and lovers who stormed and lovers 
who wrote verses and needy fortune-hunters who wanted 
money and had no objection to taking a pretty wife with a 
fortune, that she had more than the ordinary excuses for a 
knowledge of her charms. But she was a girl with a 
healthy mind, and a heart that had room in it for much 
more than the joy of being admired. Her first conscious 
mental act was to repel the fancy, but the fancy proved, 
sudden as it was, a fixed belief, and would not be repelled. 
Then a pang of pity and sorrow touched her heart, and 
then — was she sorry? For whom? For Tom — ^for Baretti 
— for herself? For a moment she felt as a swimmer feels 
when he floats unsuspectingly into a sudden, powerful 
eddy, and finds himself rolled helplessly over and over. 

She had never doubted her aifection for Tom Carroll, 
the steady growth of years of intimacy and pleasant inter- 
course. It was not the love she had read of in plays and 
books, and she had set down plays and. books, in her own 
mind, as exaggerative if not false. That she could love a 
man whom she had not known for more than two months 
was palpably preposterous and unnatural. That she could 
be false to her dear old friend and newly affianced lover 
even in a thought was a thing too absurd to need to be re- 
futed. Each of these mental postulates stood unshakable, 
and yet — she sat in sudden terror of herself. If the man 
loved her — ? She dared not face the result of that inquiry. 

Baretti, with only self-possession enough left to know 
that he must still disguise himself, turned away from, the 
picture, and began to scrape the color from his palette. 
Mary arose, and trying to speak naturally, asked — 

‘‘You can do without me for the present, Mr. Baretti?^ ^ 
Her voice sounded strangely unsympathetic and cold, alike 
on her own ears and on his. 

“ Thank you— yes,^^ he answered hoarsely; and not dar- 
ing to commit herself to more words she withdrew. “ I 
have betrayed myself,^ ^ said Baretti, miserably. And then 
such a new foolish battle began within him as you may 
picture to yourself by the aid either of imagination or ex- 
perience. First he rejoiced to think that at least she knew 


78 


HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


he worshiped her, and then he was ashamed of his rejoic- 
ing. Then, at least, his sufferings were known, and then 
new shame rushed at him for that base hope. But at last, 
and after no very prolonged spell at this old and unprofit- 
able exercise, he resolved, I will finish the picture and go, 
and in the meantime I will keep out of her way. So he 
hardened his heart, and, in spite of his pitiable state, he 
set to work again. Storms of noble shame and ignoble joy 
swept through him, and there were moments when he 
could neither think of his work nor see it, but he held on 
resolutely in the main. There was so little to do that but 
for his love for the theme and his loyalty to his friend he 
could well have borne to leave it undone, and two or three 
hours of resolute labor saw him to the close. The 
luncheon-bell rang, and he disregarded it. Lording came 
up in person to look after him. 

‘‘ Too busy to come down-stairs, Baretti?^^ 

I shall have finished in half an hour,^^ he answered; 

I can not leave it now. Lording, who had quite a 
superstitious reverence for his guest^s genius and its various 
urgencies, went out on tiptoe, and excused Baretti to his 
guests. He had to excuse his daughter also, for she sent 
word that she was troubled by a headache, and kept her 
room till dinner-time, though Tom came over in the after- 
noon with only an hour to spare, and rode away disap- 
pointed. He drove over again in the evening, and found 
her languid and unlike herself, but he was bettei* pleased 
that evening in spite of the lover-like fears that assailed 
him than he had ever been before in her society; for she 
seemed to cling to him, and was so sweet and kind, and 
withal seemed for once so dependent on him, that he went 
home in a state of blissful worship and security. It was 
natural, but more than a little pitiful. The poor girl 
wanted to make up to him for a second^ s infidelity, not 
daring to guess that the whole course of her life had 
changed, and the poor lad went away fiattered and enrapt- 
ured until he scarce felt mortal, and had no faintest notion 
that he had seen the last flicker of lovers little flame. In 
two hearts friendship and honor struggled against a passion 
that has vanquished both a million times. But though 
love had conquered one, the other had not yet capitulated, 
and even in Baretti ^s case honor and friendship were pilot 
and steersman, though passion commanded the craft. 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


79 


And between them they played their captain false right 
stanchly, and the little man went his way sore but resolute. 

Baretti^s unfortmiate parable had been set forth on a 
Monday; the concert at which Tom^s work was to be 
played was one of a Wednesday's series; and on Tuesday 
from the two houses of Carroll and Lording there was an 
exodus. Thomas Carroll the elder^ much as he objected 
to Tom^s appearance, was not insensible to the flattering 
notice taken of the event by the local county people, and 
notably by my Lord Bonnamy, who was an enthusiastic 
musical amateur, and he had consented to go up to Lon- 
don and listen to the performance. Lording and Mary 
were also going, though the girl now began to feel exceed- 
ingly guilty and unhappy. 

My dear,'''' said the old fellow, addressing his daughter 
an hour or two before the time fixed for departure, I 
want you to do me a f^vor. 

She asked him somewhat uninterestedly what it might 
be, and he, with a face of mystery, drew from his waistcoat 
230cket a tiny morocco case no bigger than a pill-box. This 
being opened revealed a ring with a splendid diamond set 
in it. 

This is for Signor Baretti,^^ said Lording, with a sly 
laugh. He painted that picture for Tom, you know, and 
of course we can^t let a thing like that go unrecognized. 
Heaven only knows what it^s worth! Fm sure I don^t. A 
thousand pounds perhaps. Now, I want you to give him 
this ring from me and to ask him to wear it as a memento 
of his visit and his kindness. 

‘‘ Papa,^^ said the girl, with a look of wounded indigna- 
tion, how can you ask me to do such a thing? No, dear; 
no."" 

Bless my soul!"" cried the old gentleman, “ where"s 
the impropriety? Never mind. There, there. Never 
mind. I"ll give it him myself. Will you come with me?"" 

She assented lingeringly, and Lording, too dull of per- 
ception to notice her manner, led the way to the room 
Baretti had used as a studio. The artist was putting up 
his brushes, and after the mani;ier of lovers, was making 
inward protestations above the senseless things that had 
been associated with his passion. He would keep them 
till he died, and they should never touch canvas any more, 
having once been glorified by such a theme. But, indeed, 


<so^ 


hearts: querist, kkave, a kb deuce. 


as some of us remember well enough, the slightest things 
grow sacred to a lover. 

Signor Baretti,^'’ said Lording in his bluff, hearty way, 

IVe something here which I waiit foil to be good enough 
to accept as a little memorial of your visit here. I hope 
you^ll wear this for my sake, and that you^ll think of us 
sometimes when you look at it. It^s not much of a gift 
compared with the beautiful work you^re leaving behind 
you, but it^s just a little souvenir of my daughter and my- 
self, and we shall both be very pleased if you""!! accept it."’"’ 

The painter looked and felt embarrassed. Compared 
with his host he was a very poor man indeed, and the gift 
looked like a payment. 

Pray, take it, Mr. Baretti,^^ said Mary. 

I am very sensible of your kindness, said Baretti. 

I will never part with it.""^ He was so obviously affected, 
though Lording had no guess as to the real reason for his 
discomposure, that the old gentleman himself found it 
necessary to blow his nose, being, as he was, exceedingly 
susceptible to all sorts of friendly emotion. 

Nice-hearted little fellow he is, to be sure,^^ he said to 
his daughter a minute or two later. Takes to people 
like a dog, doesnT he?'^ 

It was scarcely the commendation Mary would have 
chosen had she been in a mood to commend him, but she 
said nothing, and went away to superintend her makPs 
preparations for the journey. 

When the journey came it was a dull one. Mr. Carroll 
had a pompous disapproval of its object, and smiled superior 
above the age which permitted a gentleman to play such 
tricks with his position. Baretti and Mary were silent, and 
Tom was crushed by his father. The talk devolving chiefly 
on Lording, that excellent old fellow kept things going for 
a while and at last went to sleep over his Times. The 
painter left them at the London terminus, and went to his 
chambers taking his belongings with him, hoping to 
breathe freely once again and knowing his hope futile. The 
quartet went to an hotel, and awaited the event which laid 
brought them all to town. 

In spite of the energetic applause of Lording and Baretti 
the Dream of Venice achieved but a qualified success, 
and fell a little fiat upon the audience. On the morning 
after the performance Mr. Carroll scanned the critiques in 


hearts: queek^ kkave, akd deuce. 81 

the daily papers, and waS' confirmed in his opinion that the 
pursuit of artistic honors was unworthy of a gentleman. 
Nobody had ever dared to make quite so free with the 
name of Carroll as these anonymous and irresponsible re- 
viewers. None of them were warm and some were frigid. 

K this young composer/^ said the Censor, ^Mesires to 
prosper in his profession, and to secure the public ear, he 
must,^^ etc., etc. 

Thomas/^ said Mr. Carroll, with a pitying smile, 
read this, and tell me if a pursuit in which your position 
is so liable to be misunderstood is a pursuit to be adopted 
by my son?^^ 

Now Tom, although he was as good-natured a young 
fellow and as submissive to the paternal authority as need 
be, was a little sore that morning about several things. 
To begin with, faint applause is as bad as downright dam- 
nation to an ardent seeker of the arts, and Tom had seen 
himself in fancy on the way to Famous pinnacle when the 
great Hoffmann condescended to produce his work. The 
disappointment was hard to bear. He had tasted the last 
of his sweetheart^s sweetness, for the girl was beginning to 
be sore distraught in her own mind, and seemed almost 
apathetic about the whole matter, deeply as it concerned 
him. Baretti had his own troubles to think about, and 
sincere as his friendship was, and genuine his belief in 
Tom^s genius, his praise had sounded forced and unreal. 
And so in his soreness Tom answered his father disresjDect- 
fully for the first time in this history or out of it. 

Position cried Tom. Good heavens, sir, what is 
my position?^ ^ Mr. Carroll sighed and smiled, with pity- 
ing eyebrows raised again. 

It has been the object of my life, said Mr. Carroll, 
neither in sorrow nor in anger, but with a resigned allow- 
ance for his son^s aberrations, it has been the object of 
my life to instill into you a proper understanding of tl>at 
position. The age is tending downward, Tom, and I am 
not so wanting in perspicacity that I can not see it, or that 
I can not allow for the effect it has upon your conduct. 
But I am not eager to see my son foremost in the race for 
degradation.^^ 

Degradation^^ cried Tom, hotly. 

Degradation was the word I used,^^ said Mr. Carroll, 
with unusual severity of manner. I will thank you not 


8.2 


HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 


to echo my observations in a tone which I can only charac- 
terize as dishonoring to yourself and me. 

Will you kindly tell me what I have done, sir?^^ asked 
Tom. There was a little of the old man^s obstinacy and 
vanity in him, though his better qualities obscured them. 

My dear Tom,^'’ said his father, waving his large white 
hands expressively. My dear Tom. He went with 
great deliberation through his usual snuff-box pantomime, 
and even got so far as to raise the lid. He closed it with a 
snap and restored it to his waistcoat-pocket. Think the 
thing over, Tom,^^ he said, with the nod of a man who is 
prepared to give another a chance. I am not without 
faith in your natural good sense, and it is possible that last 
night ^s fiasco may have taught you something. 

Fiasco said Tom. 

I repeat the word,^^ said his father. When a gen- 
tleman stoops to such a proceeding as yours of yesterday 
nothing can atone for it but the outstripping of all compet- 
itors. 

Forgive me, sir,^^ returned Tom, if I close a discus- 
sion conducted in such terms. He left the room in a 
great heat, and that was the beginning of a quarrel be- 
tween father and son which lasted a long time, and left a 
certain estrangement, even when the outer breach wixs 
healed. 

The youngster was flinging out of the hotel when he met 
Baretti. 

“ I have come to say good-bye to your father and to Mr. 
Lording, said the artist. Tom turned back with him and 
led the way to Lording^s private sitting-room. Mary was 
sitting with her father, and bade Baretti a collected good- 
bye, which, remembering how close they had been together 
for the last month and more, was more cool than courteous. 
The ordeal was a severe one for Baretti, but he had schooled 
himself to go through with it, and he gave no sign which 
anybody but the girl could read. Mr. Carroll that evening 
returned to Trench House, and Lording and Mary also 
left London. Nobody felt in very high spirits, and even 
Lording was dashed by Tonies succh d’estime. 

It was evening when the disappointed musician returned 
to his own chambers in Montague Gardens. He sat mood- 
ily by the fire for an hour and heard Baretti packing 
overhead. By and by, remembering how sad and woe- 


hearts: queeh, knave, and deuce. 83 

begone the little man seemed at leaving England, in spite 
of his homesickness, Tom^s good heart began to warm 
again. He would go and cheer his friend a little. His 
slippered feet made no noise upon the stair, and Baretti^s 
door was ajar. He pushed it wide, and entering, stood 
amazed and solicitous. The painter, in his velvet sack 
and liis gay slippers, was kneeling at a great arm-chair 
with his head buried in the cushion, and his whole frame ‘ 
was. shaking with sobs, though he gave scarcely a sound. ^ 
Tom backed out, gently drew the ’door to its old position, 
and went silently down-stairs. 

He has some trouble of which I know nothing, said 
Tom to himself. And as the thought crossed him, the 
painter rose from his knees in the room above. He had 
been kneeling over Mary Lording^s picture, the first sketch 
for the portrait, and the beautiful face glimmered uncer- 
tainly through the tears which had fallen from his eyes 
upon it. There are more ways of being strong than one, 
and Baretti^swas the weak way. The poor, weak, unwise, 
little fellow kissed the picture and locked it away in one of 
his portmanteaus. He was never cut out for a hero, and 
it was hard to run away from the delight of her presence. 
But if he were not true to Tom Carroll, friendship was a 
farce, and there was no such thing as honor in the world. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

Tom,^^ said Mark, comfortably lolling in Tom^s most 
comfortable arm-chair, and smoking one of Tom^s cigars, 
why don^t you learn Italian? It has always been a won- 
der to me that you never went in for it. 

I ought to know it,^^ said Tom. Everybody who 
goes for music ought to know Italian.*’^ 

Then why not learn it?^^ asked Mark. 

Oh, I don^t know,^^ said Tom, with a disgusted look. 
‘‘ Such a lot of trouble. 

Nonsense, said Mark, a mere distraction. 1^11 
tell you how to do it pleasantly. Come and sit at the sign- 
oral’s lessons. YouTl help her English and she your Ital- 
ian. 

Well, I don^t altogether care,^^ Tom answered, after a 
lifctle pause. I don^t altogether care about mixing with 


84 


HEAETS: QEEEK^ KKAYE^ AKD DEECE. 


people of that sort. Unmarried ladies who reside with 
gentlemen twice divorced are not much in my line. 

Pooh!^^ said Mark. My dear Tom^ the maxims you 
cherish would have served admirably for your grandmother 
to work on samplers. There never were any wicked ages 
and there never were any moral ages, in spite of all the 
lies historians tell. There have been ages when what is 
called Vice — which would do very well for Virtue if it 
changed its name — has been hidden; ages in which it has 
been published, and ages in which it has been condoned. 
This is an age in which it is condoned. Pardon me, my 
dear Tom,^^ continued Mark, with his own characteristic 
smile, if I- seem to assume a clerical tone with you. You 
are very young for your years, Tom. Your heart is fresh 
and ingenuous, and your memory is faithful to the tradi- 
tions of the past. You remember your copy-book morals. 
And what the deuce, my dear fellow,^^ cried Mark, rising 
to his feet, and taking his cousin by the shoulders, what 
the deuce have we to play at age for? Crabbed age and 
youth can not live together. Shake olf dull care and come 
with me. A young eye beneath a gray eyebrow is a pret- 
tier thing than a gray head on young shoulders. And, all 
nonsense apart, old fellow, youTl do me a good turn. I 
am the sort of man who, all nonsense apart, generally 
wants somebody to do him a good turn.^^ 

How?^^ said Tom. You had only to put it to this 
foolish young fellow that you needed a good turn and he 
was at your service instanter. 

^^Well,^^ returned Mark, Pm not vainer than my 
neighbors. It^s no tribute to good looks, for ugly men 
have as good fortune as handsome men, and sometimes bet- 
ter; it^s no tribute to my wit, for the dear creatures abso- 
lutely prefer to fall in love with fools — it says nothing for 
my moral character. I^m not proud about it. It^s a con- 
founded nuisance in point of fact, and I^m simply unable 
to help it. The signora, Tom, has taken it into her Italian 
head to fall in love with her English master, and Ihn a 
little bit afraid of her. I thought you might like to learn 
Italian, and I thought that while you did so I mighisSecure 
a little immunity from danger. You see, I canT give up 
the lessons very well, until I have fulfilled my promise. It 
doesnT matter. If I get an Italian dagger between my 
ribs, youTl see me decently buried, won^'t you?’^ 


HEABTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


85 


I don^t mind coming/^ said Tom, though the idea 
of having you to chaperon is a little droll, isn^t it? When 
are you going next?^^ 

This afternoon,^ ^ returned Mark, if you can come. 
But not otherwise, for a thousand pounds. She has won- 
derful eyes, Tom, and when she plants her elbow on the 
table and drops her chin into the palm of her hand and 
languishes at me for half a minute at a time in the middle 
of the verb ^ To Love ^ it^s a little dangerous. Confess 
it?^^ 

I donT know,^^ said Tom. The signora ^s bold black 
eyes had no charm for Tom. There was only one woman 
in the world for him. 

You would know,^^ said Mark, laughing, if you tried 

it.^" 

Fm not so sure of that, either, Tom responded. I 
don^t think Fm very susceptible to that sort of tiling.'’^ 
^^lam,^^ said Mark, laughing again. But youTl 
come, won^t you?^^ 

Oh, I^’ll come,^^ said Tom. But whereas the signor 
all this time? Why doesn^t he look after the lady?^'’ 

Well, he^s a curious fellow,^'’ answered Mark. He^s 
not jealous on the surface. He goes about and takes his 
own liberty a good deal and leaves her to take hers. But 
if he had a thought that things were going wrong, he^s tlie 
sort of man to be on the spot with bowl and daggei* in a 
minute. I^ni glad youVe promised to come, though there 
are only ten lessons more on the programme. By that 
time youTl have warmed to the work, and 1^11 go on with 
you at any time you like to mention until youVe finished. 
It^s a pretty tongue. 

“ ‘ I like the language — that soft bastard Latin, 

That melts like kisses from a female mouth.’ ” 

And Mark began to spout Italian verses. Tom listened, 
tranquilly amused. 

‘‘You pretend to be a cynic, Mark,^^ he said; “ and yet 
you^re crammed with innocent enthusiasms. 

Am I not?^^ cried Mark, with his own smile. “ What 
a complex creature the human animal is, isn^’t he, Tom? 
Come, we^ll lunch somewhere together and then drop down 
stream to the signora^ s. 

Tom was not altogether at his ease, but after all, the 


8G HEAETS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

thing was a trifle, and Mark was very right in the main. 
Nobody seemed to think so much of oner's associates now 
as they had used to do. The idea of having Mark to take 
care of tickled him a good deal, and he was pretty sure 
that some companionship seemed necessary, or Mark would 
not have asked for it. 

If I were a humbug,’^ said Mark, after luncheon, I 
should draw out my purse and make a lingering pretense 
of paying the bill. I should then discover that I had left 
my last five-pound note at home. Not being a humbug I 
confess my poverty. How devilish nice it must be to have 
money always! Were you ever in want of a sovereign, 
Tom?^^ 

Many a time when I was at school, said Tom; but 
not since. 

Lucky dog!^^ cried Mark. Pay up, old man, and 
weTl make a start. I wonT smoke restaurant cigars 
whilst you have one of those Principales in your case. 
Thanks/'' 

The two cousins strolled calmly in the bright winter 
afternoon to the residence of Signor Malfi, and there went 
through the Italian-English lesson. The whole affair was 
severely business-like until the end, and the signora made 
no eyes at Mark. But when they were preparing to go the 
lady suddenly addressed Mark in her own tongue. 

Your companion,^" she said suavely, will not under- 
stand one word of what I am saying?^ ^ 

Not a word,^^ responded Mark. You may be quite 
sure of that if you speak quickly.-'^ 

Then why did you bring him here?^^ she demanded. 
“ The poor, slow, stupid innocent!"^ 

Will you allow me to explain another time?^^ asked 
Mark. I have very good reasons. 

You will be here to-night?'"' said the signora. 

‘^Without fail,^" Mark answered. “You have been 
angry all the afternoon without cause. But I like you best 
when you are angry. Anger becomes you. There is noth- 
ing that does not become you, and you make darkness_ 
fair. 

“ You are a mocker, cried the lady, gayly. “ Go now, 
but do not brhig the stupid innocent any more. Good- 
bye. She turned to Tom and addressed him in her liquid. 


seams: quees, kkate, and deuce. 87 

pretty^ broken-Etiglish. It is pleasure to see you here, 
sir. I hope you will come often with Mistare Carroll. 

Tom shook hands and prottrsted he was very happy, with 
little more sincerity than the signora herself displayed. 

What had she to say to you in Italian?^'' he asked, 
when they were clear of the house. 

Well, to tell the truth,^^ said Mark, turning a smiling 
face upon him,/ ^ she asked me not to bring you again, 
presumably because you interfered with her love-making. 

. But you won^t desert an old chum on that account, will 
^you?'’^ 

said Tom, disgustedly, cut the lessons alto- 
gether. Bother the woman, with her painted eyes and her 
painted eyebrows and her confounded patchouli 

‘‘My dear Tom,^^ returned Mark, taking his cousin^ s 
arm and speaking in a serious tone, “ you know me well. 
You know that I make no pretense to be a moral fellow, 
and that I^m not given to atone for sins I am inclined to 
by damning those I have no mind to. Very well. I have 
made a faitliful promise here, and in return for that prom- 
ise — whidi was made before I saw any danger in it — have 
received certain favors. Small things, all of them — boxes 
at the theaters and that sort of thing — but something to a 
poor man like me. I have accepted these and I have made 
a promise. Now, I^m not a particular fellow, but I must 
keep a promise. Leavo me a rag of virtue, Tom!^^ 

“You are welcome to all you have,^^ Tom answered, 
lightly; “ but get the thing over as soon as you can and 
then drop it. I wish youM find some other victim than 
myself. 

“ See me through it, Tom,^^ said Mark, almost appeal- 
ingly; “your virtue in this instance is its own reward. 
She is really a very cultivated woman, though I can not 
guess how she and Malfi came together, and she lias a 
beautiful accent. And it^s thoroughly worth your while to 
learn. 

Tom assented, much against his will. His objections to 
the charming signora were unforced and genuine. The lad 
was in love, and Love taught him to nurse a lofty ideal of 
all feminine worth. He thought of Mary Lording ^s inno- 
cent though imperious beauty, and he unconsciously set 
beside her this flaring painted, Southern woman — an over- 


88 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


blown hollyhock beside a tea-rose. And Tom was one of 
those young men — rarer nowadays than they should be — 
who find in purity a womanjs crowning charm, and see in 
Virtue a something so sweet and majestic that it brings 
them almost to their knees. 

With him, to think of Mary was pretty generally to think 
of his own unworthiness of so much grace and goodness, 
and now that his failure had humbled him without over- 
much dispiriting him, to think of his unworthiness was 
immediately to resolve on being worth}^ There seemed at 
such times only one way of deserving her. She sat side by 
side with his art, and if he could but once climb so high as 
to clasp the knees of his Goddess of Music he were high 
enough to touch the hem of his sweetheart^s vestal gar- 
ment also. In such a mood he went home and locked 
himself in for study. Midnight found him slaving away at 
a chorus of revelers for the opening of tlie second act of 
his opera, and he was on fire with his theme, and could 
hear the voices pealing, and the trumpets snarling, and 
fiddle and flute and hautboy and the rest all dashing on- 
ward in one sparkling cataract of sound. 

Cousin Mark that evening grilled a chop in his own 
chambers, opened a small bottle of claret, and took his 
frugal dinner alone. Then he made a cup of coffee, lighted 
a cigar, and surrendered himself awhile to pleasant medi- 
tation. The cigar being finished, he cleared away, placing 
the soiled table utensils in readiness for the morning laun- 
dress, and having banked up the fire, assumed his hat and 
coat. He was standing in the hall with his finger on the 
key of the gaslight there, when a faint tap sounded at the 
outer door. He stepped forward on tiptoe and made a 
reconnaisance through an almost imperceptible slit cun- ; 
ningly cut through the* door at the deepest sinking of the ' 
panel. There were duns in the world, as Mark (being not 
merely a poor man, but averse to parting with money 
when he had it) knew to the cost of comfort. This was a 
late hour for a common business dun, but there were plenty 
of people whom he would rather avoid meeting than meet. 

The stairs and the landing were but dimly lighted, and 
he could not make out much of his visitor until, after tap- 
ping a second time, the figure retired a little to look up at 
the gaslit fanlight above his door. Then he knew it, and 
opening the door, stood hat in hand before the signora. 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


89 


Caterina!^^ he said^ raising his eyebrows with a singu- 
lar smile. Tliis is indiscreet^ is it not?^^ 

“ It matters little^^^ she answered, whether I am dis- 
creet or not. Let me in, Marco. 

Certainly/^ he said, if you wish it. But remember 
I have never asked this of you."^^ 

I know it,^^ she answered, as she passed him. I 
am cold. You have a fire, have you not?^^ 

There is a fire in the sitting-room,^^ he said, closing 
the outer door and waving her along thejiall. She entered 
the room and he followed. 

Marco, she said reproachfully, I had expected a 
little warmer welcome.^'' 

My love,^^ he answered, I am so surprised to see 
you here! What shall I do to show how glad I am to see 
you? Pray sit down whilst I stir the fire. We shall have 
a fine blaze presently. Now, let me take off your cloak. 

No,^^she said, coldly, ‘‘d can help myself.'’^ She es- 
caped from his too solicitous attentions, and removing lier 
hat, stood to arrange her hair before the mantel-piece mir- 
ror. Then with a single motion she slipped from her 
cloak and threw it over a chair. 

There are more ideals than one in the world, and in sj)ite 
of Tom CarrolPs cordial distaste for her, the signora was 
undoubtedly a fine woman in her way. A subdued light 
was favorable to her, and the gaslight was low. The fire 
began to fiicker a little, and to light up her cheek, and her 
ripe lips and bright eyes, and to lay sudden hashes of gold 
color on the lights of the coal blacl^-hair. Mark was some- 
thing of a connoisseur in female charms, as has been said 
alre^y, and he thought the signora had never looked to so 
much advantage since he had known her. He was too 
. much of an artist in his own way fo desire to spoil the col- 
oring of the picture. 

Do you find this half light pleasant ?^^ he asked. 

Pray sit down. I think nothing more charming than 
firelight.^ ^ 

Yes,^^ she answered, I have heard of that as one of 
your English tastes. But, Marco, do not let us talk of 
trivialities. I am in need of sympathy. I am unhappy, 
Marco, unha])py, most unhappy. 

Tell me your sorrows, said Mark, in his softest voice. 
He really spoke Italian amazingly well for an Englishman, 


90 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


and his voice was round and musical. She was still un- 
seated, and he approached her. 

Can I trust you?^^ she asked. Say nothing. I 
have had experience enough of vows, and I know what they 
mean. Let me look at you. Let me see your face whilst 
I speak to you."^^ 

She moved suddenly, and turned the gas to its full 
height. j 

A moment, my dearest, said Mark, turning the lights- 
down a little. I am a poor man, and can not alford to 
crack even a gas-glbbe wantonly. Now I am ready for in- 
spection. Do you think I look honest 

His voice had something of reproach in it, and his face 
was serious, though he bubbled with mirth beneath his 
mask of earnestness. If you knew how much better you 
look-in a more subdued light, my dear, he said to himself, 

you might spare your face an ordeal. You don^t need 
to rouge, but Tom was rights and the eyes and eyebrows 
ar^ a little assisted by art. Ho wore a tender and ajj- 
pealing look whilst he thought thus, and stood with his 
hands reaching a little forward, as if to say, Look your 
fill. There is nothing but honesty here.-^^ 

Marco, she said, you look honest; and you have 
sworn over and over again that you love me. 

Love you!"’^ he answered, I worship the ground you 
tread upon!^'’ 

“ Odd,^'’ said the real Mark Carroll, laughing under this 
mask. They donT believe it, and yet they like to be told 
so. Human nature loves to be humbugged. 

I think, she said, I think I can believe you. 

^‘Believe me!^^ cried Mark, I am simple honesty 
itself. 

An Israelite indeed,*’^ added the inward Mark, in 
whom there is no guile. 

‘‘ Titovs jealousy and harshness grow beyond control and 
beyond endurance. But I have no friends and no money, 
and I am in a foreign land, and you know what lies before 
me if I leave him. Can I trust you to be kind and good to 
me always? No, Marco, no! I shall be plain and middle- 
aged very soon, and then I shall have no charm for you. 

Mark turned abruptly to hide the smile which would 
crease his lips and sparkle in his eyes in spite of all his 
efforts. He carried olf the effect of that abrupt avoidance 


hearts: QtTEEK, KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


91 


of her glance by pacing with an angry-looking jerk in his 
step once up and down the room. 

There is no faith in a woman ^s heart/^ he said, when 
again he stood before her. None. 

Marco/^ said the signora, plaintively, I would will- 
ingly have faith in something. I would willingly believe 
that love is not altogether a vision, a dream, a mockery. 

Now the annoying part of the business was that this 
Italian young person (who had seen a good deal of the very 
. worst side of the world, and had learned to be wise, and 
' had been taught over and over again the folly of staking 
gold against counters) was absolutely in earnest. It was 
all good fun to Mark, of course. If a pretty woman chose 
to throw herself at Markus head he was not the man to say 
her nay. The dear creatures had strange ways, and above 
all things in the world they loved to be humbugged. Well. 
He had no objection to gh ing them their own way so long 
as it cost nothing but a little play-acting. 

Oaterina,^^ he said, ^Mf I were a wealthy man — if I 
could offer you a home befittmg your own divine charms — 
would you scrutinize my motives in this way? But because 
I am poor you doubt me. 

^‘Will you let me share your poverty, Marco?^^ she 
asked, passionately. I could be good with you. I could 
be at peace again. I would be true to you. I would work 
for you. I do not want fine clothes. I do not want fine 
rooms. I can do without all those things. I only want a 
little love, Marco, a little kindness, a little peace. And 
since I have known what love is, Tito is hateful to me. 

She swept her gloved hand across^ her eyes, and Mark 
stole an arm about her waist. Up to now the signora had 
furnished very good sport to Mark, but here" the game had 
turned to bay, and he himself seemed likely to be hunted. 

Mia carissima,^ said Mark, tenderly, you know I 
love you. A passion like mine is not to be doubted. No 
woman ever lived who would not recognize a tenderness so 
devoted. You know it. Your own heart tells you that I 
love you. But you propose a thing impossible — at least for 
the present. Let us meet when we may. Let us extract 
what moments of sweetness from the bitter liours we can. 

You love me, she cried, and yet you bid me go 

back to Tito! No, no, Marco. That is not the love I 


92 HEAETS: QUEEN;, KNAVE;, AND DEUCE. 

want. I want peace, Marco — peace and rest — the ‘peace 
and rest you promised me. Not that. 

We must wait for that/^ said Mark, soothingly. I 
am so poor, Caterina, that I can scarcely provide for my- 
self, and if I accepted the generous olfer of your foolish 
heart we should both starve together. 

If I go back to Tito,^^ she flashed at him, suddenly, 
I stay with him forever. I hate him, and my life is all 
a lie with him, but I will not live a double lie. Oh, I 
hate all the world — myself — and you, because I love you 
so. 

Let her have her head, said Mark, with inward quiet, 
though he feigned to be perturbed and pretended to soothe 
her. Shefll race herself out of breath in a little while. 
WeVe had thunder and lightning enough, ^Mie went on, 
with a change of simile, ^Miere comes the rain. In half 
an hour we shall have clear skies again. 

If it had been possible to sit down in shelter and smoke 
whilst the tempest raged, Mark felt that the situation 
would have been passable. But it was a decided nuisance 
to have to make love to a crying woman whose eyes were 
actually growing smeary while she wept. 

She doesn^t guess what a face she ^s making, said 
Mark. But I shall at least have the advantage of seeing 
her an natnrel when the paint is all gone. It can^t last 
long at this rate. And all the while he was soothing her 
and patting her hand, and making the most chivalrous 
love in the world. 

No, Marco, she said at length, you do not love me. 
You do not care tc^be alone with me. 

Caterina said Mark, upbraidingly. 

No,^^ she said, you do not, or why should you have 
brought that stupid innocent this afternoon? If it had not 
been for him I should not have been angry, and then I 
should not have quarreled with Tito, and then I should not 
have come here to scold and cry. Why did you bring 
him?^^ 

Caterina, said Mark, ‘‘listen to me and be reason- 
able. Tito is growing jealous, and I brought my cousin as 
a blind. I -am not very much of a coward, but if Signor 
Malfi is to be hanged at all I prefer that he should be 
hanged for killing somebody else. 


HEAETS: QUEEiT, KKAVE^ AKD DEUGE. 93 

Do you think Tito guesses that you love me?^^ she 
asked. 

I know it/^he answered^ scarcely able to suppress a 
smile. The swarthy signoras jealousy was a little more 
urgent than Markus affection. Mark knew that^ and he 
had a keen sense of humor. 

‘‘ Marco/^ cried the signora, he is dangerous. ^ 

As the words left her lips there came a loud knocking at 
the door, and she sprung to her feet with a suppressed 
scream. 

Be quiet,^^ said Mark, calmly. He kicked off his shoes 
and crept out to reconnoiter, and when he came back he 
was a trifle pale. Tito,^^ he said in a whisper, and the 
signora looked about her like one in deadly terror. You 
are safe enough,^ ^ said Mark, seizing her by the shoulders 
and shaking her pretty sharply to bring her to herself. 

Come this way. Step lightly. Take off your shoes. 
Now take them in your hand. This way. He himself 
seized her hat and cloak, and stepping like a ghost, led the 
way into the hall. The main door opened upon a double 
set of chambers, one of which was empty and unlet. Mark, 
who liked to know things, had found that one of his keys 
fitted the lock, and being as cool as a cucumber in this 
somewhat awkward strait (directly the first shock was 
over), he called this fact to mind and utilized it. There 
was another loud knocking at the outer door as Mark 
stooped to apply his key. He took advantage of the noise 
to mo^e quickly, and thrusting the signora into the cold 
darkness of the next hall, he closed the door, whipped back 
to his own room on tiptoe, pulled on his slippers, hastily 
disordered his hair before the mirror, and walked out to 
meet his visitor. 

He threw open the door, and casting both arms in the 
air, yawned portentously. 

Is that you, Malfi?^^ he asked in a sleepy voice. 

Ugh! How cold it is. Come in. I am glad to see you. 
One gets diabolically dull of an evening sitting all alone, 
and I must have fallen asleep. I heard a knocking, and 
dreamed that I was at the siege of Sevastopol. 


94 


HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


CHAPTER X. 

The swarthy fat man looked hard at Mark and listened 
to his speech without reply. His breathing was thick and 
heavy, though Mark had given him ample time to recover 
from any bodily distress the mounting of the stairs may 
have caused him. The barrister cast his arms abroad 
afresh and yawned as if he would fall in pieces, and the 
singer still stared hard at him without a word. 

Come in,^^ said Mark, with admirable calmness. 
^^"DonH stand there in the cold.^^ 

Signor Malfi without a word walked in and Mark closed 
the door behind him. 

Is there an3dhing the matter?^ ^ asked Mark, appearing 
suddenly to notice the singular pallor which lay on the 
singer^s dark skin, and the remarkable expression of his 
eyes. Malfi looked round the room deliberately, and his 
stertorous breathing sounded noisily distinct in the silence 
of the place. Why, man/^ cried Mark, you look as if 
you had seen a ghost. 

Signor Malfi surveyed him darkly for a moment, and still 
without a word took up a candlestick which stood upon 
the mantel-shelf, and set it upon the table. Mark saw 
that his hand shook slightly as he drew a case of vestas 
from his pocket, and striking one of the matches, held its 
fiame to the wick of the candle. As a matter of course 
Mark knew what was going to happen, but he was not such 
a fool as not to be downright amazed by the Italian's pro- 
ceedings. 

My dear Malfi,^^ said Mark, in well-acted wonder and 
commiseration, what is the matter? What can I do for 
you?^^ 

Signor Malfi threw the vesta into the fire, took up the 
candlestick, and walk^ into the hall, Mark following. 
The singer having examined the fastenings of the door, 
shot the two bolts, which had almost rusted into their 
sockets with long disuse. 

Are you niad?^^ said Mark, seizing him by the shoul- 
der. ‘‘ Speak. Tell me what is the matter, and what you 
want.^^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 95 

“ I shall find what I want/^ said Signor Malfi^ opening 
his lips for the first time, and nodding at the barrister with 
a wicked look. 

The signora heard the shriek of the rusty bolts, heard 
Markus questions and Malfi^s answer, and scarcely dared to 
breathe as she hstened, crouching behind the door. 

Come, now,^^ said Mark, with the air of a man who is 
beginning to find it hard to keep his temper. W/ia^ do' 
you want? If my opinion is worth anything you want a 
strait- waistcoat. ^ • i 

Come with me,^^ said Malfi, looking at him with half- 
closed eyes. I will show you what I want.^^ 

He walked back along the hall, and stooping at the sit- 
ting-room door found a key in the lock. He closed the 
door and turned the key, and then, light in hand, made 
for the little kitchen where the laundress left her work un- 
done as a matter of daily routine. 

You madman!^^ cried Mark. Stand still.^^ He 
swung the Italian round and looked at him with searching 
inquiry. Tell me what you want,^^ he said, slowly and 
deliberately, as if to carry understanding to a mind not 
easily apj)rehensive of ideas. “ Tell me what you want, or 
I shall have to call for the police and see you taken care 
of. You must know that you are not acting like a man 
who is in possession of his faculties. Now,^"^ gently and 
coaxingly, what do you want?^^ 

Bah!^^ said Malfi, with a sudden flash of light in his 
sickly, half-closed eyes. Do not play with me. Let me 
go. Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Your eyes are made to 
look honest enough, but I can see the lie behind them. 
Let me go.^^ 

What do you want?^^ asked Mark. What do you 
mean by walking into my apartments in this way? Tell 
me. I will endure no more of this folly. 

My good friend, returned Signor Malfi, with a very 
singular smile, ^^you will endure me until I have made my 
search and have found what I want. When that is done I 
will go, but not before. 

Mark cast his hands abroad in a sort of resigned despera- 
tion. 

Very well, he said. You must have your way, I 
suppose. What do you want to look for? Where do you 
expect to find it? Go on and have done with it. MadT"" 


96 hearts: queeh, kkave, and deuce. 

said Mark in an inward-sounding voice. ^^Mad! quite 

madr^ 

■ You are a very good actor/^ said Signor Malfi^ nod- 
ding at him. Sometmng of the look of certainty the Ital- 
ian's face had hitherto worn faded from it as Mark returned 
his gaze. With nearly all, men an assumption of a facial 
expression begets an answering inward emotion. The 
genuine pretender is more easily affected in his way than 
another, and Mark had now so long been looking amaze- 
ment at his visitor that he almost began to feel it. He 
only waved his hands in answer as if to say that this ob- 
vious madman must be borne with and humored for a mo- 
ment. 

Malfi pushed by him with a look of renewed decision, 
and Mark followed, interrupting him no more, but stand- 
ing resignedly by. The Italian's search was complete 
enough, but it led to nothing. lie prowled over the whole 
place, candlestick in hand, and the owner of the chambers 
having lit a cigarette by this time followed him with an 
aspect of resigned boredom as of one who had given up 
wonder. 

How, will you tell me what you wanted he asked. 

Where have you hidden her?^^ demanded Malfi, with 
an ugly coolness. 

Oh,^^ said Mark, there is a lady in the case! My 
good sir, I am not so honored or so blessed as to have a lady 
in these poor rooms of mine just now. Pray complete 
your search if you are still unconvinced. Take your time, 
and do not allow me to stand at all in your way. 

So saying he sat down in the arm-chair, threw himself 
comfortably back into it and crossed his legs. 

Where have you hidden her?^^ asked Malfi again with 
the same threatening quietude of manner. 

My good friend, said Mark, my rooms are per- 
fectly open to you, and you may look through them until 
you are satisfied. As a mere affair of detail, I should like 
to know of whom you are in search. Do I know the lady?’^ 

This once,^^ said Malfi, you have baffled me. But 
you have not changed my mind, and what I knew before I 
came here I know still. I shall go now — ^ ^ 

Thank you, sir,^^ said Mark sweetly. 

But before I go I will tell you that I am not a man to 
be played with. If I killed you here in England they 


HEAETS: QXJEEK, KHAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


97 


would hang me, and I do not want to be hanged. You 
will do me a favor, therefore, if you will keep out of my 
way.^^ 

You do yourself less than justice,^^ answered Mark, 
with his sinister smile. Easily as he seemed to take it all, 
he watched the Italian as a cat a mouse, and stretching out 
a lazy hand to a little drawer in his writing-desk, he drew 
out a toy revolver. Signor Malfi,^^ he said, playing with 
the pistol as he spoke, I should be a fool if I pretended 
not to understand you clearly. I should not be a man of 
honor if I treated you simply with the contempt your con- 
duct deserves, and left you to the misery of your own mad 
fancies. It is likely enough that you will not believe me, 
but I declare — not for your sake, but for hers — that I am 
innocent of any design against your domestic peace — that 
I esteem your wife too highly to approach her with any 
other sentiments than those of respect and friendship.'’^ 

Yes,^^ said Malfi. It is not difficult to lie.'’ ^ He 
moved toward the door, speaking loudly. And if she is 
within reach of my voice, as I believe she is, she will know, 
as you know, that I am a dangerous man to cross. '’ '’ 

You are an amusing vagabond,^ ^ said Mark lightly, as 
he rose to follow him. Good-night. If I am troubled by 
you in future I shall apply to the police — not for protec- 
tion — but for delivery from a nuisance. On the other 
hand, signor, you may rely upon me to trouble your 
domestic bliss no further. May I trouble you to draw back 
the bolts? Thank you. Good-night. Allow me to turn 
up the gas a little. You may find the stairs dark, and I 
would not willingly disappoint your friend the hangman. 
Good-night.'’^ 

To all this Signor Malfi answered not one word, and 
Mark, closing the door behind him, set his eye to the nar- 
row crevice at the top of the lower panel and watched his 
burly figure as he went down-stairs. Then, after a little 
pause, he drew out his keys, and stealthily and silently un- 
locked the door of the next set of rooms. The signor, 
Mark reflected, might still be listening. He was out of 
sight and hearing after the first turn in the stone staircase, 
and Mark was disposed to be wary after what had hap- 
pened. • 

Caterina slipped toward him out of the darkness like a 
ghost. She was pallid with cold as well as fear, and when 


98 


HEAETS: QUEEK:, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


she opened her lips to speak^ Mark laid a linger on his own 
and motioned her in silence to the sitting-room. 

He is gone?^^ she asked in a terror-stricken whisper as 
she crouched above the fire. 

He is gone/^ Mark answered, slipping back the toy re- 
volver into its drawer and seating himself calmly. 

Mark/^ she said, he is dangerous. What shall I 
do? How dare I return to him? He knows that I was 
here. 

He thinks so,^^ said Mark, tranquilly, lighting a new 
cigarette at the fire of the old one. 

Marco, said the signora, turning on her knees before 
him, ^^you are very cold to me.'’^ Mark shrugged his 
shoulders and smoked. Give me a kind word, Marco, 
after all this danger for your sake."^^ 

My dear child, said Mark, quietly, love-making is 
a very pretty pastime, without doubt. But in this case I 
scarcely care for it. I was never of a romantic turn of 
mind, and as I grow older I grow more matter-of-fact. I 
care more for peace and a quiet mmd than I used to do. 

The signora still kneeling before him glanced at his face 
keenly with a miserably hungry look growing upon her 
own. This cynical and heartless young man had somehow 
reached to what heart she had. After all, it does come to 
most people at one time or another to pin a heart to some- 
body, to set soul and faith and purpose all on some one 
creature. And sooner or later, except to the very happiest 
(and the truest) the golden dream grows gray, and faith is 
seen misplaced — your kohinoors and emeralds of Candahar 
are profitless pebbles and beads of glass, and you break 
your heart or turn stupid according to your nature. Take 
thp. world round and it is probable enough that love is a 
vice of the blood, and a permission of the will, much oftener 
than the romancist cares to fancy. And yet love reigns, 
and is king of all the passions still, and will be till tlie 
whole world^s summers have deceased. 

It was never profitable to tell some sorts of stories, which 
are now happily (by growth of. civilization, taste, and heart) 
grown quite unprintable in England. It would serve no 
purpose worth serving to tell the story of the Signora 
Caterina Malfi here. It had been in the main an evil 
story, though, as it affected her until now, not by any 
means a sad one — and all through, most unwomanly worn- 


hearts: q^eek, kkave^ akd deuce. 99 

anly. Probably, until she met Mark Carroll she had never 
known that she had a heart at all, and he was but a poor 
god before whom to throw it when she found it. But you 
must allow sincerity of worship in the blindest idolater. 
Have there been no raptures of uplifted spirits before the 
ugly and foolish gods of India, and Egypt, and Great 
Britain? 

A pure life is much for a man. For a woman it is 
almost everything. It would be but a poor service to Cate- 
rina and her like if her historian should paint her as having 
a love as worthy to bestow as another woman might offer. 
And yet it was all she had, and the first she had known of 
goodness and purity. Everything is comparative, and in 
this case the purity of womanly passion was all the more 
amazing by contrast with previous old experiences. 

Is love-making no more than a pastime, Marco?^^ she 
asked. She had been terribly frightened, but a great fear 
will fiy before a greater. Nothing the swarthy signor 
could do could hurt her like a doubt of Mark. Mark 
shrugged his shoulders and went on smoking. Is love 
no more than a pastime, Marco, she asked again, with 
you and me?^^ 

My child, said he, placidly dispelling a little cloud of 
smoke by a wave of his hand, the play is played out. 
We will close the box and put up the puppets. You don^t 
know Thackeray, do you?^^ he asked in English, with an 
attempt at a smile. 

The play is played out?^^ she asked. Marco, you do 
not mean you do not love me? That we — 

Love,^'’ said Mark, is a charming word, and in its 
way a charming thing. But it has a tender and delicate 
life, and often dies early. In plain Italian, my good 
Caterina, I am not going to run the chance of finding an 
Italian dagger in my ribs to oblige any lady, however 
charming she may be. 

^^Well,^^ she said, with wonderful quiet, tell me 
everything. Say all you have to say. 

There '’s a sensible girl, said Mark. We go our 
ways, my dear, that^s all: you yours, I mine. As for love, 

I have loved a time or two before this, and shall love 
again. And so I fancy have you, and so will you again. 

He expected tears and protestations, in accordance with 
the history of old days. He liad seen that sort of thing be- 


100 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


fore, and disliked it excessively because it bored him. But 
Caterina only rose to her feet and confronted him silently. 

‘‘You have some little toilet to make,'’^ said Mark, 
pointing to the boots and hat and mantle which all lay 
together in a disorderly heap upon the carpet. “ Whilst you 
make it I will see if the coast is clear. I am not altogether 
certain but that our musical friend is waiting round the 
corner with a carving-knife in readiness for both of us.^^ 

She said not a word, and he pulled on his shoes and 
overcoat, took his hat and gloves from the table, and with 
a word to say that he would return in a moment, left her. 
She heard the door close, and listened to his step until it 
grew inaudible, but she never moved until he came back 
again. 

“ He has resigned the chase, Caterina,^^ said he as he 
re-entered. “ I am afraid he will be unamiable when you 
meet, but you have had experience of him long ago, and 
you will know how to manage him. Not ready yet? Do 
not allow me to disturb you. I am in no haste. 

“ You mean all this?^^ she asked, slowly and quietly. 
“You can cast me olf like this? You could swear for a 
month or two that you love me, and could take all I had 
left to ffive, and then throw me away because you are afraid 
to hold me?^^ 

“ I thought I had explained it all quite clearly,^^ said 
Mark. 

“You could look so like truth, she said, “ and yet be 
such a liar. 

“ My good Caterina, he answered, “you and I, who 
know the world, are wise enough by this time, and experi- 
enced enough to understand each other. 

“You swore, she said, “ that you loved me.^^ 

“ And you that you loved me,^^ said Mark. “ And we 
agreed to believe each other. 

“ And you never loved me?^^ 

“ My dear,^^ he cried, “ you are a very charming and 
accomplished woman. Even without permanent beauty 
your understanding would make you irresistible. Even 
without wit your b^eauty would conquer anything with a 
heart inside. I recognized your intellect and I did homage 
to your beauty. I do both still. But I am something of 
a philosopher, Caterina, and I am apt to weigh the value 
of a thing to me before I pay a price for it. 


hearts: queen, knaye, and deuce. 101 

And love is not worth the price? Yon are afraid ol 
Tito?^^ 

I am not afraid of anybody/^ he answered, with the 
same calm and flippant tone. But I am not a fool, at 
least, he added with a laugh, I am not fool enough to 
pay so much for — 

So little?'’^ she asked, filling up the pause. 

Precisely,^ ^ he responded. Although for gallantry 
sake I searched for a prettier phrase. 

You mean,^^ she said, that I am and have been no 
more to you than any other woman you may find? That I 
have been a month^s toy to you, and nothing more?^^ 

My child,^'’ said Mark, a little fretfully, I donT want 
to say a lot of things that are unconventional, and — true: 
unless you force me. We have played out our play very 
pleasantly, and I am heartily sorry that the curtain falls 
so soon. But I — ^you know — I am a battered old man of 
the world, so young as I look, and you have had experi- 
ences. Let us do justice to ourselves and to each other. 
Let us recognize the hand of the inevitable, and part in 
peace. 

Marco,^^ she said, it will be bitter to have to hate 
you.^^ 

Then why try to do it?^^ he asked. I donT hate you 
because I have to part from you, and you have as good a 
reason for leaving me as I have for leaving you.^^ 

And I have loved you!^^ she said, with such a bitterness 
and intensity in her quiet tones that he began to be half 
afraid of her, and to think her made of some other metal 
than he had fancied. You! I have lived all these years 
in the world without loving anybody, and I must needs 
love you at the end of it all. Ah, well, Marco! I am 
going now, and yoi\ may think that you have done with 
me. You thought Tito dangerous, you poor coward, be- 
cause a woman said so. You will find me more dangerous 
than Tito. 

Mark laughed softly and took another cigarette. Passion 
does not always show itself in romantic ways, and the sign- 
ora sat calmly down and drew on her discarded boots, 
arranged her hair before the glass, tied on her hat, and 
adjusted her mantle and her gloves, all in the most busi- 
ness-like quietude. 

‘‘ I thought I had found a man at last,^^ she said then. 


102 HEAETS: QUEE]sr^ KNAYE^ AND DEUCE. 

facing round upon him, and I gave him all the heart I 
had to give. I would have loved you like a dog. I would 
have let you beat me and starve me for a word of love a 
year.^^ 

My dear/^ said Mark, you prepare the way for your 
antithesis most eloquently. You are going to say that you 
hate me now, as well as you ever loved me, are you not?^^ 

I am going to say,^^ she cried, that I will repay you.*^^ 

For what?'’^ asked Mark. “ You have really cost me 
very little.'’^ 

I will repay you,^^ she said again. I will repay you. 
And now let me go if you please. I can not kill you here, 
but I will bide my time.'^^ 

I am reprieved for awhile, then,^^ Mark answered, 
leading the way to the door. Good-bye, Oaterina. I am 
really very sorry to have to say it, but when you come to 
think, you will see how much wiser it is for both. Good- 
bye. 

You!^^ she cried, flashing suddenly upon him with a 
vivid and terrible passion in her face and voice. You! 
To have thrown a heart away on you!^^ 

An error, Oaterina Mark answered, a fatal error. 

Yes,""^ she said, with sudden quiet, a fatal error. 
Let me joass. Good-night.'’^ 

He stood awhile to watch her as she went slowly down 
the stairs. She was undeniably a fine woman, and he was 
sorry enough to lose her. 

‘‘ Like most of those southern women,^^ he said; she 
has a bit of the tiger in her. I wonder, Mark, if your un- 
worthy person excited any real passion in her — there is such 
a thing unless all men and books do lie, and most of them 
do — or whether she wanted a little bit of play-acting at the 
finish. I hope at least, he concluded with a laugh, 
that she wonT carry melodrama into action. I shall be 
out of the frpng-pan into the fire indeed if I have a pair 
of daggers waiting for me instead of one. 

This prospect so tickled him that whilst he washed his 
hands and face and dressed for the streets, he chuckled half 
a dozen times about it. The signora with a resolute step 
marched westward in the meantime, and the signor, stand- 
ing in the shadow of Temple Bar, saw her emerge from the 
Temple archway, and followed in her footsteps. 


hearts: QUEEiT^ KJSTAYE, AND DEUCE. 


103 


OHAPTEE XL 

It is not easy to believe that there were many better men 
in the world than Mr. Anthony Bethesda. It is certain 
that there were few indeed whose outer man bore so plain a 
sign of inward Yirtue. He had a large and well-formed body, 
plump but not corpulent; a large and well-formed head, 
and large and well-formed features. He was not in holy- 
orders. But he looked as though no other line of life were 
appropriate to him, and he wore black clothes of the usual 
low church-clericrl or dissenting-ministerial cut. His 
white tie was large and spotless. His fat hands caressed 
one another, and his face was an index to his heart. It 
was rarely to be seen without a smile upon it — a smile 
humble and benevolent — a smile which said distinctly 

God forgive me,'''' and in the very same curve of lip and 
eyelid, The Lord bless you, my Christian brother."" 

This good man worshiped at a large, square-built chapel 
in the south of London, and was by all accounted a shining 
light and a model of the Christian virtues. 

Taking his walks abroad one London autumn morning, 
Mr. Bethesda saw in the near neighborhood of his favorite 
chapel a big van discharging furniture at the door of a 
little house. A florid, gray-haired man of country aspect 
was superintending the unloading, and a middle-aged 
woman of decent middle-class exterior was assisting a very 
pretty girl in the porterage of light articles from the big 
van to the little house. Mr. Bethesda paused a moment to 
looklon with an aspect of benevolent interest No man 
need search his mind for apologies on the ground that he 
flnds it pleasant to look at youth and beauty, and Mr. 
Bethesda was a widower and old enough to be the girl"s 
father. At that hour of the day this outlying London 
street was very quiet. From half -past seven to half-past 
eight in the morning it was always lively enough, except 
on Sundays, and brisk enough again from six to seven in 
the evening, for at those times the tide of clerks and shop- 
men ebbed and flowed. At other hours the policeman, the 
baker, the costermonger, the postman,, and the muffin-man 
came along to break the stillness of a desert solitude. 


104 HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE, AKD DEtJCE. 

Apart from those who were personally concerned with 
the big van, Mr. Bethesda was the only creature in the 
street, and he was therefore noticeable. The pretty girl, 
with her hair escaping somewhat from its confining net, a 
fiush of clear color on her face, and a pleased excitement 
in her eyes, was emerging from the door- way, when she 
caught the good man^s smile. Her face clouded curiously, 
and turning abruptly, she withdrew into the house. Mr. 
Bethesda lingered for a moment longer. He had more 
than a fatherly eye for a nice-looking girl, had Mr. Bethes- 
da, and perhaps the young woman might return. Whilst 
he stood there the two men in charge of the van lugged to 
the mouth of it, with infinite trouble, a great old-fashioned 
wardrobe of black oak, and attempted to lower it to the 
ground. The weight was too much for them, and they 
called for help. The gray, fiorid man emerged from the 
house and lent a pair of hands. 

It is a Christian duty to help a neighbor, said Mr. 
Bethesda, advancing. 

So IVe heard,^'’ replied the florid man, dryly, with an 
odd, distrustful sideway look at him. 

‘‘ Allow me,^^ said the good man, either not observing 
or disregarding the other^s manner. 

Nobody objected to his assistance, and he lifted as strong- 
ly as the rest. The pretty girl was visible at the end of the 
passage, and it was evident that she took a keen interest 
in this proceeding. It is curious to notice how little will 
interest people who have not seen much of the world. 

The ponderous old oak wardrobe was a fair weight even 
for four men to carry, and Mr. Bethesda was red in the 
face as he tottered at his own corner. Suddenly there was 
a trip, a stagger, and a cry. The gray-haired, florid nftin 
was down upon his back on the stone pavement; the man 
who had shared the load at that end was on his knees, and 
the weight had fallen with a sickening crash upon the pros- 
trate figure. 

Father shrieked the girl, running forward. The 
man made no response. They moved the weight from his 
body and bore him in-doors, but not before that part of the 
street was crowded with people who had suddenly sprung 
from nowhere. Mr. Bethesda entered with the two men 
of the van, but he seemed as helpless as the rest, and could 
do nothing but gape and stare with fatuous “ dear me^s.^^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, Ki^'AYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


105 


Somebody ran for a doctor^ and brought him elbowing his 
way through the crowd. A policeman, sprung from no- 
where like the rest, stationed himself at the door and kept 
olf intruders. 

Ladies/^ said the doctor to the distracted girl and no 
less distracted mother, I must ask you to retire for the 
moment. You can be of use, perhaps, turning to Mr. 
Bethesda. Officer close that door, and drive those fools 
away. Now.^^ 

The women waited in the hall outside the closed door, 
wringing their hands or holding to each other, and the min- 
utes crawled like hours. When at last the doctor con- 
fronted them he was grave and had little to say. The in- 
jured man was still unconscious. It would be best to take 
him to the hospital. He would receive completer attention 
there than elsewhere. 

Both the wife and daughter fought against this and would 
hear nothing of it. What could be done was done, and 
Mrs. Moore and her daughter Azubah sat down to watch 
the mainstay of the house to see if haply he could ever be 
so patched again as to prop their humble roof-tree any 
more. 

This was Michael Moore ^s London home-coming, and to 
be brief about a mournful business, the outcome of it was 
that the hale farmer was crippled for life, and Mr. An- 
thony Bethesda became the household guide, philosopher, 
and friend. 

The farmer mended slowly, and his wife and daughter 
had deceptive hopes of him, but he never got further to- 
ward health and strength than to sit in a Bath-chair to be 
wheeled about the streets on sunny afternoons. Now sick- 
ness, more than any other form of domestic extravagance, 
makes inroads upon the purse, and the four or five hun- 
dred pounds the farmer had saved out of the wreck of his 
affairs began to melt with terrible rapidity. When the 
Bath-chair was bought and the doctors were paid the two 
women sat down above the scanty accounts and looked at 
each other with foreboding faces. 

^Zubah,^^ said the mother, beginning to cry and to 
embrace her daughter, what can we do? What can we 
do?^^ The girl offered no answer. We can just manage 
to live for a year, perhaps, and there ^s your father can 
never do a hand's turn again, and what can we do at the 


106 


hearts: queeh^ khave^ ahd deuce. 


end of it? afraid as youdl have to go out to service^ 
my dear, though I never looked f orrads to any of ours com- 
ing down so low as £hat. Miss Lording ^ud give you a 
place to be her maid, '’Zubah, and that ^ud be something 
off our shoulders. Still the girl made no response. ‘‘ Fm 
afraid, ^Zubah, as your pride dl never let you do that till 
youd’e forced to it.^"^ 

My pride will not stand in my way, mother, said 
Azubah, quietly, but I can not help you and father by 
going into service. What are you to do when the year is 
over?^^ 

Perhaps Squire Carroll ^ud help us,^^ said the poor 
woman. * 

^‘Mother,^^ said the girl, haven^t you heard father 
say over and over again that he wouldnd accept a favor at 
Mr. CarrolFs hands? We must help ourselves. 

And now,^^ said Mrs. Moore, my own Childs’s a-turn- 
ing contrairy.''^ 

Nc, no, dear,^^ answered her daughter, in a tone half 
soothing and half authoritative. ‘‘We must be honora- 
ble, and we must support ourselves. I shall find something 
to do in less than a year which will keep us all. 

“ Lord o^ mercy I"'"’ cried the mother, “ what can you do 
to keep us all?^^ 

“ I have done something already, mother,^^ said Azubah. 
“Not much, but something — a beginning. There is a 
paid choir at St. John^s Church, and I saw an advertise- 
ment for a soprano — a treble, you know — and I answered 
it yesterday morning, and the curate heard me sing. He 
has the management of the choir, and he engaged me. It^s 
not much, but twelve pounds a year is better than nothing 
at all, and it may lead to other things. There will be 
church concerts, and if I sing at them I am to have a 
guinea each time. I didnT tell you before, dear, because I 
wanted to surprise you.^^ 

“My dear,^^ said the mother, “ youTl never ha ^ the 
courage to sing afore a churcliful of folks. 

“Oh, yes,^^ answered Azubah, tranquilly. “It was 
very unpleasant to have to sing to a stranger yesterday. 
But the more people there are to sing to, the easier it is. 
And, mother, another reason why I didnT tell you was that 
I wanted the first quarterns money to pay for singing-les- 
sons.'’^ 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAVE^, AKD DEUCE. 107 

My dear^ my dear!^"' cried the mother, we can^t 
afford no such toying with Providence. We want .to keep 
every penny we can get/’ 

^‘Mother/'’ said the girl, you remember young Mr. 
Carroll?^^ 

Surely. 

You know how much he knew about music, and he 
always told me that if I liked to practice I would make a 
singer. I must try. '''' 

‘‘ Your uncle Joshua had a lovely counter-tenor in his 
day,^"^ said Mrs. Moore, who was a readily hopeful and 
easily desponding woman, an^ your grandmother used 
to sing tribble in the old church at Overhill so as you could 
hear her all over the buildin^. The voice is a gift, and it 
runs in families. That^s a thing as has been well under- 
stood always. A voice is a gift as runs in families. 

Mother, said the girl, anxiously, I feel so sure of 
being able to do something in that way for father and 
yourself, and there is so little time to be lost. I could go 
on improving all the time if you could let me have a little 
money to pay for lessons now instead of waiting a quarter 
of a year. I can pay you back again. There will be con- 
certs at the church schools, and if I sing well they may 
lead to people asking me to sing at others. I will work 
hard, dear; I will indeed. 

The mother shook her head, but the denial was feeble, 
and her easily hopeful soul began to conjure up visions of 
her daughter as a great lady — almost like Jenny Lind, who 
was the one singer of note she had ever heard of. 

‘‘Here is an advertisement,^^ said the girl, passing a 
rapid finger over the columns of a newspaper; “ the adver- 
tisement of an Italian lady, signora — signora — oh, here it 
is. Signora Malfi. Italians are always the best teachers, 
and Signora Malfi’ s terms are only five shillings for a les- 
son of an hour.’^ 

“ Lord o’ mercy!” cried the good woman a second time, 
“ five shillings for an hour’s squalling! Does she think 
folks are made o' money?’ ’ 

But the daughter was the stronger, and the stronger 
won, as usual. Mr. Anthony Bethesda, who brought his 
Christian smile into the house with him before the settle- 
ment was half an hour old, was consulted on the question. 

“ I had not known it was so bad as this, dear friends^” 


108 


HEAKTS: QtJEEK, KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


said Mr. Bethesda; I would that I had known it earlier. 
There is a friend who keeps an office for registration in the 
City, and I would willingly have applied to him. There 
are temptations in the life upon which our sister proposes 
to embark. 

It was a pity, but Azubah could not be brought to en- 
dure Mr. Befchesda, and whilst he was talking she left the 
room. The girl was eager and enthusiastic, disposed to do 
everything she set about at once, and mightily scornful of 
the advice of people she did not like. Her heart was her 
judgment, and that^ perhaps, was something of a pity also. 
Where she loved, she trusted the loved one^s opinion — there 
had never been anybody quite so wise as her father — where 
she disliked, the wisdom of Solomon would have looked 
unwise. If Mr. Bethesda thought ill of her scheme, the 
fact was almost a recommendation to it. It was at least 
an incentive to go on with it. 

Azubah marched straight out of the house with the^ 
Signora Malfi^s address in her purse, and very little else 
there. By dint of patient inquiry and one or two ominous 
changes, she reached the signora^ s residence, saw the lady, 
made terms, and actually took lesson Number One at once. 
The signora took the five shillings, and allowed her to carry 
away the bravura to study between lessons. It was then 
that Tom and Mark had seen her. 

Whether the Italian young woman taught the English 
girl much that was of service to her is an open question, 
but the pupil worked devotedly, and made great progress. 
She was surprised at first to find that Mr. Bethesda had 
business at the West End of London, but by and by she 
became used to seeing him, and even to accepting his cas- 
ual escort home. There was not a doubt that Mr. Bethesda 
was a very good man, but it happens often in this topsy- 
turvy world that the naughty people are lovable, whilst the 
good are not, and somehow the girl and Mr. Bethesda made 
little progress toward friendship. Now, the signora, who 
was not good, got on much better with Azubah, and be- 
gan to take quite a motherly sort of interest in her, when, 
Avithout warning of any sort, the musical student, calling 
at Signor Malfi^s lodgings with intent to take the custom- 
ary lesson, learned that the signora had disappeared — had 
left England, said the landlady. 

Azubah being one of those young women who do all 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KHATE^ AKD DEtJCE. 


109 


things enthusiastically or not at all, had been full 
of day-dreams on her journey. But for those day- 
dreams it is pretty certain that she would never have 
struggled at all, for it was her truest nature to lie still to 
dream. They drew her on, however — ^pictures of full 
houses listening and murmurs of full-lauded plaudits, years 
away as yet, and pictures of mother and father happily 
provided for and beyond the reach of care. The refusal at 
feigner Malfi^s door quite froze the genial current of her 
soul, and the step which had been elastic in ascending went 
down the steps slow and leaden, and took her dispiritedly 
to the corneT of the street. 

Miss Moore,^^ said a voice there, and Azubah, looking 
up, saw the signora. They told you I was gone away?^"" 
she asked. 

Yes,^^ said the girl, in amazement. 

I have quarreled,'''^ said the signora, with my hus- 
band. It will all be soon over, and I am not angry any 
more. He is angry yet. He is, like Italians, hot and 
jealous. I knew you would come, and I did not want you 
to be disappointed, and I had not your address. Therefore 
I came, and I am glad I saw you.^^ 

Azubah was instantaneously certain that the signora had 
been shamefully wronged. She was very glad to meet the 
swarthy lady, and shook hands with her warmly. AYliat 
wretches men were, to be sure! 

I dare not let Tito see me now,’^ said the signora. I 
am living half a mile away If you will come to me I will 
give you your lessons. 

She would go certainly and help to defy Tito and all his 
works. Five shillings a week was not much, but it was 
something, and she at least could be loyal to a woman in 
distress. The signora was voluble in broken-Engiish on 
the way, and the girFs heart warmed at the recital of her 
wrongs. 

I will go upon the stage,^^ said Caterina, in a while, 
and there I can keep myself. A lady can keep always her- 
self upon the stage. 

They were in the new rooms by this time in a house in 
the neighborhood of Pimlico. The furniture, which had 
been extremely pretentious and gaudy, was dirty and dilap- 
idated now. A white velvet hearth-rug with embroidered 
roses on it was turned up at the corners and its flowers 


110 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, K2s^AVE, AKE DEUCE. 


were frayed^ and its whiteness was lost in innumerable 
stains of footsteps, ink, and wine. The mantel-shelf was 
clothed in ruby velvet, but the pile was mangy, and rubbed 
threadbare at the edges of the shelf as if by lounging 
shoulders. A man of the world would have known and 
read the signs of the place at a glance — but what was a 
girl of eighteen, country-bred, to guess about them? 

But you can not play in jEnglish,^^ said Azubah, in an- 
swer to Oaterina^s last speech. 

I shall sing,'’^ said Caterina. She flung the piano ojDen 
and began a vocal storm, shrieking through trills and 
melodies with amazing volume and shrillness. Azubah 
had never been at all inclined up to now to lay bare her 
hopes and desires to anybody, but there was that in the 
signora^ s apparent helplessness and her loneliness, and most 
of all in her ambitions, which prompted the girl for the first 
time in her life to make a cmi^dante. So when the shriek- 
ing melodies and trills were done with, she spoke and told 
her own story. 

You will sing well,^^ cried the signora, when you 
have had more lessons. It is not harder for two than it is 
for one. We will learn duettos and sing them at the con- 
certs together. You are white, and pale, and sorrowful, 
you little English flower, she said, kissing Azubah, em- 
phatically, and now it is plain the reason why. And 
you are good, and that is why I like you.'^^ 

A week earlier the girl would have resented Caterina^s 
caresses almost as much as those of a man, but noAV the 
signora was in trouble and Azubah^ s heart warmed to her. 
Besides, this promise seemed to open up a way to her am- 
bitions. The whole afternoon was spent in practice, and 
when the five shillings came to be paid, the Italian woman 
took them lingeringly as though she would fain refuse 
them. 

When Azubah paid her next visit a little fat man with a 
bald head, ruddy lips, and heavy eyes sat in the signora ^s 
sitting-room listening to her as she sung. 

This is my lady friend,'’^ said the signora, bouncing 
from the piano when her song was done, and embracing 
Azubah vehemently. This, my child, is Mistare Moss, 
he is of the — how do you say, Mistare Moss?^^ 

The Megatherium,^^ said Mr. Moss, turning themes 
into b^s. 


hearts: queek, khave^ ahd deuce. Ill 

It is very good jjlace to sing at/^ said Caterina, is it 
not^ Mistare Moss?^^ 

It^s one of the best in London/^ said Mr. Moss, nosily. 

It^s not so long established as some of ^em, but what we 
want there is genuine talent. Wehu open to give genuine 
talent a start in almost any direction. 

Let my lady friend sing/^ said the signora. Then we 
will sing a duetto together. She turned to Azubah. 

Let Mr. Moss hear you.^^ 

Azubah took off her gloves and sat down at the piano 
with a beating heart. What did she know? The Mega- 
therium Concert Hall was quite outside her experiences, 
and the gentleman said it was one of the best places to sing 
at in London. Through him might lie the avenue to fort- 
une. Her fingers touched the keys firmly and lightly. The 
piano had seen its best days certainly, but it was fairly in 
tone, and its voice gave her new confidence. She began to 
sing — As pants the hart for cooling streams when heated 
in the chase. The signora listened doubtfully and glanced 
at Mr. Moss. 

Very dice, biss,^^ said Mr. Moss. Very dice indeed, 
but not the Begafcheriub ^tyle. We donT go id for relig- 
ious busic there. Try agaid. Subthig lighter if you please 
— subthig operatic. 

Azubah^s more familiar music was mostly antiquated, 
and after the signora she was afraid to try the something 
operatic. Her own mellow and liquid sounding tones fell 
on the ear with double sweetness after the shrill notes of 
Caterina^s voice, but she did not guess that, and was afraid 
of being overmatched. So she chose Barnett's old-fash- 
ioned Eise, gentle moon,^^ and sung it so well that Mr. 
Moss applauded softly. 

Yes, biss,^^ he said, that will do. Try agaid. A 
ballad is the sort of thing to suit you, I fadcy. Try a 
ballad. She tried a ballad. Not quite the stage 
style,^^ said Mr. Moss. A little broader and then youTl 
do. A leetle broader. Well, ladies, I shall have no ob- 
jection to give you an opportunity. You can have a week 
begiddig on Bonday dext, two turns apiece. Thed if you 
suit us we can talk about terms afterward. The opening,^'’ 
he continued, is valuable, of course, but we doiiT ask for 
anything in the way of premiub. We give you a chadce 
od your berits.'’^ 


112 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


Whether Mr. Moss were a gentleman or not Azubah 
could not tell. He was not in the least like Squire Car- 
roll, or his son Tom, or the vicar, or the curate at Overhill, 
or Mr. Lording, the father of her old patroness and friend. 
He wore a prodigious deal of jewelry, and he was not par- 
ticularly clean about the hands, but little as the girl knew, 
she had heard that artists were often untidy. Mr. Moss 
no doubt mixed much with artists, even if he himself were 
not of the brotherhood, and perhaps he had caught their 
manners and customs. And how fortunate she herself was 
to have found such a chance so soon! If she succeeded — 
oh, if she only could succeed! father and mother need never 
want for anything. Her fortune was made and theirs 
along with it. The signora was confident of taking the 
world by storm now that she had at last secured an oppor- 
tunity for making her voice heard. Opera managers all 
over Europe had been blind to the treasure they had 
thrown away. Whatever faults Tito had, he could sing, 
and he knew what singing should be. Tito had always 
been indignant at the blindness of the managers. 

Arrangements were completed with business-like brevity, 
and Azubah found herself pledged to sing nightly for a 
week before an audience of whom she knew nothing. The 
signora had earned the right to kiss her and to be friendly 
with her, having secured her this unexampled piece of good 
fortune. But the girks head was turning, and her heart 
was beating with it all as she went home that evening. 

You oughtnT to be going out at night alone, mydear,^^ 
said her mother anxiously, when she heard the news. 

And yet your father isnT in a case to be left for an 
hour. ^ ^ 

Signora Malfi is going as well,^^ said Azubah. I 
shall be quite safe with her."^^ 

Signora Malfi sounded grandly on the unsophisticat- 
ed country woman^s ears, and Mrs. Moore knew already 
that Signor Malfi was or had been a singer at her Majesty's 
Opera, and naturally set him down as being somehow on 
the royal staff, and more or less intimately associated with 
the queen herself. So that the association of her daughter 
with these high personages was altogether a thing to be 
thankful for. Not that she thought much of foreigners as 
a rule, but her Majesty's foreigners were necessarily supe- 
rior to the crowd. 


hearts: queeh^ kkaye^ akd deuce. 113 

The girl had little difficulty with her mother, who was 
more proud than anxious, but she had many tremors in her 
own behalf. The wished-for, dreaded night came at last, 
and she hastened to the sign ora ^s rooms, there to dress by 
appointment. Caterina, with bare arms and shoulders 
glittering with powder, stood aghast at the plainness of her 
'protegee’s attire; but it was too late to change it, even if 
Azubah had had the wardrobe of a princess — which she 
had not. 

The signora, with all her finery carefully shawled, led 
the way and called a four-wheeler, and the two were driven 
to the Megatherium stage-door. Mr. Mossy's duties hap- 
pening to have called liim there at that moment, he re- 
ceived them. 

Good-eveding, ladies. Glad to see you. You can 
have a dressing-roob betweed you to-borrow. ITl see to it. 
Come this way.^^ 

It was all unaccustomed and strange to Azubah, who 
began to feel curiously nervous and elevated by turns. The 
dust, the dirt, the bare unplastered walls, the slips of 
scenery, lines of rope, coils of gas tubing, the olla po dr ida 
of stage odds and ends made an unpleasant impression 
upon her. She had never so much as read a description of 
the view behind the scenes, and had expected something 
like a vestry at church or a school committee-room to wait 
in. There was the sound of a big band from the front, 
and in the frowsy green-room a man and woman in 
grotesque attire and painted faces awaited their call. In a 
minute the tones of the band softened down and a rancor- 
ous voice began to sing. The voice and the tune were 
things to shudder at, but the words were indistinguishable. 
After frequent repetitions of the air the voice ceased, and a 
great noise of applause was heard and a young man put in 
his head at the door-way and nodded familiarly at the 
grotesquely dressed couple. This young man was in even- 
ing dress, and his lower man looked passable, but he wore 
a fiery red wig and his face was painted in exaggerated 
semblance of a drunkard^ s. 

See you at Bobboi^s, shaffiT I?^^ he asked. IVe 
sent the orfice to Bill and Judy. Ta-tar.""^ 

Altogether, except for the near neighborhood of the 
band, it was extremely unlike an evening concert, and 
Azaxbah was puzzled and dispirited. 


114 


hearts: queeh^ khaye^ ahd deuce. 


The Deutchers!^^ cried a small boy, thrusting his 
ragged head under the young man^s arm. The grotesquely 
dressed people passed out, and the band began again. The 
Deutchers apj)eared to score a great success, for they re- 
turned twice to the stage, amid resounding plaudits. 
Again Azubah heard the voices, and was inclined to think 
but little of the vocal powers of the singers at the Mega- 
therium. Was it at all the place Mr. Moss had represent- 
ed it as being? 

Snorer Cateriner!^'’ cried the ragged-headed boy, when 
the Deutchers had completed their third ditty. The sign- 
ora arose and slipped her shawl from her gleaming shoul- 
ders. As she passed through the door- way another figure 
or two appeared— one a lady in tights and a remarkably 
short dress, another a lady in appropriate concert costume. 
Azubah listened for her friend^ s voice and heard it shriller 
and higher and louder than ever, ringing through the 
place to the accompaniment of a piano. There was a 
noise of applause at the close of her song, and she swept 
radiant to the door of the greenroom, nodded, and swept 
back again. She sung a second time, and the applause 
was louder than before. Then, after a long interval, dur- 
ing which the band played the same air over and over 
again monotonously to the sole accompaniment so far as 
Azubah^s ears could tell her of an irregular thumping 
upon the platform, the ragged-headed boy made another 
appearance. 

Mam^’selle Mora,^^ said the boy. 

Go,^'’ said Caterina, pushing her gently. That is 
you. Here is your first song. Why do you shake so? 
Go. I will come with you.'^^ 

There were other people in the room again, and the sign- 
ora spoke in a whisper. Azubah obeyed her, and almost 
before she knew it found herself upon a stage with a row of 
footlights in front which, for the first moment or two, ob- 
scured the hall beyond. She heard a piano playing the 
overture to ‘^Eise, Gentle Moon,^^ and in due time she 
began to sing. At the end of the first verse a man rapped 
vigorously with a hammer upon a table, and there was a 
faint scattered sound of applause about the hall. Then 
her sight came to her, and she saw a crowded auditorium, 
in which men sat smoking and drinking. It was not what 
she had looked to find, and she felt debased and degraded. 


hearts: queeh^ kkate, akd deuce. 


116 


but at least she would not break down before all these peo* 
pie. She took up the air at the due time, and sung again 
as she had never dared. to sing before. The place seemed 
so vast to her that she dared, for the first time in her life, 
to give her voice full scope. She disdained the people, and 
she hated herself for being there. She would not strain 
her power by a thread^s b^reath to please them, but the 
freedom of the long and lofty hall invited her, and, half to 
her own amazement, her voice filled it with sound. The 
applause at the end of the second verse was considerable, 
and in spite of her disdain and disappointment at the place 
and people, she was conscious of a sense of elation as she 
walked from the stage with an answering salute. It was 
by pure accident that she went olf on the right side, and 
met the signora in the flies. 

‘^Mademoiselle Mora will appear again, said a loud 
voice, and the tapping on the table began again. 

“Your music, whispered the signora, thrusting one 
roll into her hand and taking away the other. “ Go. 
They are ready for you.'^^ 

She walked proudly back with the music clinched tightly 
in her gloved hand. She had been tricked into coming 
here, though she scarcely knew whom to blame; yet, being 
here, she would not fail. The pianist began “ The Banks 
of Allan Water, and she sung the first verse with con- 
scious power. But as she opened her lips for the second 
she saw directly beneath and before her a face familiar 
from clnldhood, and this so froze her that the musician 
had to try back again. The face she had seen was Mark 
OarrolTs, and her eyes roving helplessly from his recognizing 
gaze encountered another glance — Tom CarrolFs, this time. 
It would have been bitter enough to have been seen there by 
anybody who knew her when Michael Moore had held his 
head high in the world, but to be met there by him, and 
to be hopeless of telling him by what an error she came 
there, seemed for the moment a thing too shameful to be 
borne. The pianist was nearing the note once more, and 
she nerved herself to the task and struggled through the 
song. She knew that she was singing badly, that she was 
out of time and tune, and she was prepared for the omi- 
nous silence which met her at the close. 

“ youdl do better to-morrow,^^ said Mr. Moss, kindly 
enough, as she quitted the stage. 


116 HEAMS: QtJEEK, KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 

I think it right to tell you, sir/^ she answered quietly, 
that I shall not be here to-morrow. Signora Malfi/ ^ 
flashing, round upon her with widening eyes and clinched 
hands, how dared you bring me to a place like this?^^ 

Moore was a very proud fellow, Tom was saying to 
his cousin. ‘‘ He would never have allowed the girl to ap- 
pear in a place like this unless something had happened to 
him. I must hunt him up. 

Oh, said Mark, carelessly, I suppose the signora 
brought her here. She doesnT sing badly. It^s a bit of 
an adventure, though, to find two lady acquaintances on 
the Megatherium stage in one evening. Malfi has kicked 
the charming Caterina out, I suppose, he added to him- 
self. That is my fault, and does me an honor of which 
I am hardly worthy. It^s a very appropriate line of life 
for her, and shefll do well at it. These dunderheads fancy 
she can sing. The little girPs worth fifty of her. Mark, 
I think you must look up the playmate of your childhood. 
She^s growing absolutely pretty.-^ ^ 


CHAPTEK XII. 


When Mark turned after these reflections his cousin 
Tom had disa 



HeTl be back to see Leonie,^^ said Mark, and thought 
no more about it. Mademoiselle Leonie {iiee Mrs. White- 
house) was attracting all London, more or less, by her 
midair somersault in full flight from one trapeze bar to 
another, and Tom and Mark were there to see her. The 
performance came on, and in due time was over, and Tom 
had not returned. In point of fact, Tom had found other 
business. He was always a bit of a Quixote, and the sight 
of his old playfellow on a music-hall stage seemed to speak 
so plainly of some sort of misfortune that he went out at 
once to find out what the misfortune was, and, if it might 
be, to alleviate it. 

You canT go in, sir,^^ said the keeper of the stage- 
door, with inflexible aspect. 

Take in my card to Miss Moore,^^ said Tom, and at a 
half-crown presented with the card the door-keeper grew 
suddenly flexible, and obeyed. Tom followed in his foot- 
steps, and by and by came upon a scene of quarrel, in 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKATE, AHD DEtJCE. Il7 

which the persons concerned were the signora and Mr. 
Moss. 

You cad say what you like/’ cried Mr. Moss^ it^s all 
the sabe to me. It^s the pridciple of the thig I go for. 
The yug woman ^s billed for a week, ad sheTl have to ap- 
pear for a week. She aid^t ady particular catch neither, 
but I^m goig to stick to the bargain. 

Azubah, with an extremely white face, was trying to get 
past Mr. Moss, and Mr. Moss by much adroit dodging 
frustrated her at every move. 

‘‘ Allow the lady to pass, if you please,^^ said Tom, in a 
tone a shade too decided to sound civil to a stranger. 
Mr. Moss regarded him angrily, and demanded to know 
who he was and how he came there. These inquiries were 
presented with more than necessary emphasis, and accom- 
panied by some grossnesses of expression which were part 
of Mr. Mosses common conversational stock in trade. They 
sounded horrible to the gentleman, used as they were in the 
presence of women. “ Stand aside,^^ cried Tom. “ Allow 
me. Miss Moore. His command to Mr. Moss was en- 
forced by a strong but quiet hand; the girl took the pro- 
tecting arm and clung to it, as she and Tom moved together 
toward, the stairs which led to the street door. The man- 
ager in a fury declared that the intruder should repent this, 
and roared for a policeman. Then running forward, he 
stood half way down the stairs to intercept Tom^s exit, and 
a most unfortunate thing happened. Mr. Moss standing 
there bellowing blasphemy and blocking the way so in- 
censed Tom Carroll that he took him by the collar and 
swung him down such of the stairs as still remained to be 
traversed. 

At this Tom was seized from behind, and a dreadful 
hubbub arose, Mr. Moss holding his nose and cursing 
through it, the signora shrieking from the top of the stairs, 
and the whole available talent of the Megatherium Concert 
Hall swelling the chorus which accompanied this duet. In 
the middle of it all somebody brought a policemen, and the 
noise redoubled, and somehow, when Tom had tendered 
his card, they all surged out together into the street, Azu- 
bah still clinging to her too-impetuous protector ^s arm, 
frightened and white, but for all that self-possessed and 
silent. 

The card was not enough. 


“ It was evident/^ said the 


118 hearts: QtJEEK^ KHAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 

policeman, that a serious assault had been committed, 
and the gentleman must come to the station. On his own 
authority the policeman could not let the gentleman go. 

Things began to look exceedingly unpleasant for Tom, 
but having got himself into the position, he bore it as well 
as he could, demanded a cab, which was brought with diffi- 
culty through the crowd, saw Azubah hi to it, paid the 
cabman his fare beforehand, and then finding another han- 
som for himself and the policenian, submitted to be driven 
to the station, leaving Mr. Moss to follow. The district 
police-office being very near at hand, he had the satisfac- 
tion of being followed by a score or two of the onlookers. 

Mr. Moss appeared with his nose bleeding, and his 
charge against Tom was that he had forced his way through 
the stage-door, and had there, without provocation, griev- 
ously assaulted him — Mr. Moss. To this Tom answered 
coldly and contemptuously with a statement of the facts, 
and again proffered his card. The inspector regretted that 
he could not accept that as a sufficient guarantee of the 
gentleman ^s identity, and offered an alternative suggestion. 
Mr. Carroll might either go home, accompanied by a 
policeman, who would be instructed to ascertain the ac- 
curacy or non-accuracy of his professed address, or he 
might send for a friend who would become surety for his 
appearance on the morrow. 

All this was more and more unpleasant to a sensitive 
youngster who had gone out to relieve distress and had met 
with so poor a reward for good intentions, and Tom was 
naturally indignant at it. But he made shift to control 
himself and to write a brief note to his cousin Mark, whom 
he described so particularly to the officer that that func- 
tionary had no difficulty in finding him at the place at 
which Tom had left him. He glanced at the note and 
rose tranquilly. 

What is the matter?’^ he asked, on reaching the 
street. The official told the story as he knew it. Non- 
sense, said Mark decisively. Mr. Carroll is one of the 
best-tempered and gentlest fellows in the world. He must 
have received great provocation.'’^ 

Mr. Mark Carroll, of Pump Court, Temple, barrister-at- 
law, having identified his cousin, and having become surety 
for his a^^pearance, Tom was released, and went his way 


hearts: queeH;, khaye^ ahd deuce. 119 

much perturbed. Mark accompanied him home;, and they 
talked the matter over on the way. 

You""!! get a solicitor to instruct me, as a matter of 
form/^ said Mark, and Idl defend the case. All these 
fellows are servants of Mr. Moss, and they ^11 lie of course 
till they^re black in the face. Your only witnesses are 
the two women. I shall have a chance of airing my Italian 
with signora. He laughed at that fancy. It was cer- 
tainly an odd chance which would throw them together in 
a police court as barrister and witness. Tom broke in on 
the current of his thoughts. 

You don^'t suppose, Mark, that I am going to drag 
that poor little girhs name into an affair like this?^'' 

Good gracious!^^ cried Mark. Why not? She is 
your principal witness. Mosses men will all swear what 
Moss wants them to swear — thaffs human nature. The 
poor devils have to live one way or another, and a little 
perjury is all in the day^s work when iffs wanted. Your 
case is this. Being a person of known benevolence — 
there Mark smiled his own pleasant smile — and observing 
on the stage of the Megatherium a young lady whose pai;- 
ents were once prosperous tenants on your father'’ s estate 
(a very good point that father^s estate), you arrived at the 
natural conclusion that her parents are either lost or have 
fallen into financial difficulties. With that warm-hearted 
impulsiveness which is known to be your chief character- 
istic, you go round to the back of the stage to see if you 
can be of service. You find the young lady being horribly 
bullied by the manager, why and wherefore we at present 
know not, and you interfere wildly for her protection. 
You admit that for a lady^’s protection you laid your hands 
upon Mr. Moss. Mr. Moss unfortunately fell down-stairs.^'’ 
'No/’ said Tom; I threw him down-stairs, and he 
deserved it. If I had broken his neck I should have had 
no pity for him.'’^ 

That would have been manslaughter,^^ said Mark, 
smilingly. And, of course, you threw him down-stairs, 
and no doubt he deserved it. But it is the rule to admit 
nothing in these cases. 

"" I shall tell the truth,'’'’ said Tom, hotly. I'’ll have 
none of your confounded legal lies.'’*’ 

‘ Tell the truth and shame the devil, ^ eh? Well, 
that’s a proverb, and there'’ s some of the wisdom of our 


120 


hearts: queek^ knave^ akd deuce. 


ancestors in it, no doubt. ‘ Tell the truth and go to the 
devil would do for a revised edition. Leave the case to 
me, Tom. My conscience is a little tougher than your 
own. 

You want to drag Miss Moore^s name into it?^^ asked 
Tom, who was not by any means in his usual state of placid 
good temper. 

My dear fellow, cried Mark, you can^t do without 
it. 

But I can do without it,^^ cried Tom, in great heat, 
and 1 10 ill do without it. What does it matter to me? 
Peojile whose opinion I value know that I am no brawler, 
and the people whose opinion I don^t value can think what 
they please. 

My dear fellow,^^ began Mark, but Tom stopped him. 

I won'^t hear any more about it, Mark. I shall go 
down to-morrow, and what happens will happen. But I 
will have no lies told or suggested in my behalf, and I 
won^’t have the name of poor Moore ^s daughter dragged 
into the affair at all. 

You seem tender about poor Moore ^s daughter, said 
Mark, with an open sneer. He thought he had never 
heard of anything so downright foolish as the view Tom 
took of this business. 

I am tender about Moore ^s daughter, answered Tom, 
coldly. ‘‘ I hope I should be tender about the daughter of 
any old friend in such a matter. 

Well, now,"’"’ said Mark, if Miss Moore is to be left 
out of the case what brought you there at all? It^s a case 
of wanton and purposeless intrusion at once.^^ 

Tom, seeing how untenable his quixotic position was 
against any reasonable assault, naturally held to it all the 
more doggedly. 

Well, Tom,^^ said his cousin, you know how much 
I like you, but I^m bound to tell you that in this case you 
are acting like an ass. 

. And you,'’^ Tom answered, advise me to act like a 
cad and a coward. 

Mark shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. It was 
evident that Tom was not in a mood to be reasoned with, 
and if in this case he chose to act like a fool, one man, at 
least, had done his duty and had warned him. Mark had 
no inclination to be a martyr in the case, as he would be 


seams: queen, knave, and deuce. 


121 


if he offended Tom too far by his interference. Tom was 
too valuable a friend to be offended lightly, and if he would 
not be helped out of this awkward scrape he must get out 
of it by himself as best he could. So the two cousins part- 
ed for the night somewhat coolly. 

On the morrow they met at the police-office, where, by 
Mark'^s interference, one discomfort was spared to the most 
prominent criminal of the day, and Tom was allowed to 
take a seat at the table in place of appearing in the dock. 
Mark had done more than this beforehand. He had met 
the presiding magistrate once or twice, and had taken ad- 
vantage of that fact to call upon him early in the morning 
and to relate his cousin ^s case. 

My cousin, sir,^^ said Mark, is the most quixotic 
fool ali^e. There is a perfect defense in the case and he 
will not use it. He has no earthly reason to consider the 
girl, except that she is the daughter of an old tenant of his 
father^ s.^'^ 

I must go by the evidence, Mr. Carroll,^ ^ said the 
magistrate. I can^t allow myself to be affected by an 
ex-parte statement.-'^ 

God forbid,^^ cried Mark, piously. My only object 
in calling upon you was to explain the case for my cousin^ s 
benefit with you personally, and not in your capacity as 
magistrate. You are an old acquaintance of his father^s, 
and if any questions are asked and you are able to say on 
my authority that a complete defense existed, but was not 
brought forward from motives of exaggerated delicacy — 

I can refer the inquirers to Mr. Mark Carroll, said 
the magistrate, and there the conversation ended. 

It came to pass that in consequence of Markus maneuver 
the magistrate handled Tom gently, and the result was 
that the misdemeanant was fined ten pounds, which was 
paid at once, and as a matter of course. And if the affair 
could have ended there it would have passed off lightly 
enough. But everybody knows what a hungry interest at- 
taches to matters theatrical in the public mind, and the 
Megatherium, though not exactly a theater, was next door 
to it. The one reporter who sat in this particular court, 
and was paid twopence a line by the daily papers, not for 
what he wrote, but for what they published, hailed the case 
as a godsend, and took a keen verbatim note, manifolded 
it in long-hand, and sent it to every journal in the metrop- 


122 hearts: queeh^ khave^, akd deuce. 

olis. The bills of the evening papers made a special line 
of the case, and the morning papers headed it, Unpro- 
voked Assault. The Mirror had an indignant article 
on the shameless indulgence displayed by the magistrate 
toward the ruffianly defendant, who, without being able to 
plead even the ordinary excuse of drunkenness, had forced 
his way into a scene of peaceful business, and, without 
rhyme or reason, assaulted the manager of the Megathe- 
rium in the execution of his duty. 

The Mirror,^^ being a Tory journal of the highest and 
dryest vsort, was naturally on Mr. CarrolFs breakfast- table 
every morning. In its columns Mr. Carroll read the dread- 
ful story, and whilst he sat in a condition of horrified 
amazement. Lording, who was an earlier riser and had seen 
the news at breakfast an hour before, came bursting in im- 
petuously. 

This is all some horrible mistake, he said, seeing at 
a glance that Mr. Carroll had read the news. Some 
scoundrel has taken a respectable name. I want you to 
wire to Tom and demand the truth about the matter. 

I shall go up to town immediately,^^ said Mr. Carroll, 
ruffling with injured majesty. It would have been bad 
enough for any father to read such a record of a son, but 
he suffered in proportion to his pride, and, that being ab- 
normal, so were his pains. 

‘‘ I will come with you,^^ answered Lording. Mary 
knows nothing about the matter, and I have burned the 
daily papers. If youTl let me write a note here and send 
one of your men over with it, he can take my horse and 
leave him. 

Certainly,^^ said Mr. Carroll. He bore the misery of 
the news firmly and like a man. 

Lording wrote a brief note to his daughter, saying that 
important business called him up to London, and asking 
that a portmanteau might be sent on to him. He added 
that Mr. Carroll accompanied him, and that put it into the 
girhs head at once that something had happened to Tom. 
She sent a note by the groom who drove back her father^s 
messenger, demanding to know if anything were the 
matter. Lording, thinking the deceit justifiable, scrawled 
a hasty line to say that there was nothing on earth to be 
alarmed at; and he had, indeed, quite persuaded himself 
that somebody had been impersonating Tom Carroll. 


HEAETS: QUEEi^^^ KETAYE, AKD DEUCE. 123 

There was nothing easier than to offer a card that belonged 
to somebody else in an affair of that sort, and Tom had 
always been so much of a gentleman that it was impossible 
to think of him as being thus suddenly transformed into a 
rowdy. 

The two elders had no heart for talk as they traveled to 
London, and a more and more unpleasant dread lest the 
thing should prove true after all began to settle down on 
both of them. 

ITl tell you w^hat, Carroll,^ ^ said Lording, at Euston, 

I wonT interfere with your talk with the lad. It will be 
better for you and him to have it out together. 1^11 go and 
see MarE. The two are always together, and he^s bound 
to know something about it. If he doesn^t I shall follow 
you to Tonies place, for I can’t stand the suspense, and I 
must know the truth. 

As you will,^^ said Mr. Carroll, frozenly, and they 
parted on their separate ways. 

Lording found Mark at home. 

Whaffs all this in the papers about Tom?^^ he cried. 

Do you know an^dhing about it? Is it true?^^ 

Well,^^ Mark answered, it is and it isn^’t.-’^ 

Damn it all, man!^^ cried Lording, don^t offer me 
riddles. What is it? Tell me what you know. . 

Well,^'’ said Mark, there’s a lady in the case, and 
Tom has sopie high-flown notions about its being dishon- 
orable to put her in the witness-box to clear him.” 

A lady in the case?” said Lording, blankly. Con- 
found him! And confound you, too! Can’t you tell a 
plain tale, and be hanged to you?” 

Thus adjured, Mark told the story as he knew it, and 
Lording breathed freely. 

It’s abominably unpleasant, and all that, of course,” 
said the good old boy. But we who know the lad can 
trust him, eh, Mark? He’s in the right, is Tom, quite in 
the right. And what on earth can be the matter with poor 
Moore to let his girl get into a place like that? My 
daughter’s quite savage at the girl not writing to her. 
She’s sent three letters and not had a line in answer. I 
say, Mark, there must have been a good deal of hard 
swearing against Tom. Eh!” 

About half a dozen of the witnesses went for flat per- 
jury, according to Tom’s story,” answered Mark. I 


124 


HEAETS: QUEEN^ KKAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


told him what an ass he was not to have a defense. I 
could have made those fellows contradict each other a 
thousand times over. But Tonies a Quixote. 

I like him better for it/^ said Lording. As honest- 
hearted and truthful a lad as breathes. A fine, high- 
minded, honorable lad, by — , sir! And all the same, 
it^s abominably unpleasant to have these things said of one 
and not to be able to deny them.''^ 

Nothing that happened to other people affected Mark 
greatly, as a rule, but for once a circumstance outside his 
own interests almost cost him his temper. 

I^m glad for Tom^s sake that you approve of him,^^ he 
said. Personally — if my opinion's of any value — I think 

him the most unmitigated ass in Europe. Look at the 
pain he gives you,^^ cried Mark, not because he cared for 
that, but to make good his argument. Look at the 

J )ain he gives his father! And all for a girl for whom he 
las no business to care a farthing. 

I suppose,^ ^ said Lording, he cares no more for her 
than he has a right to care for her.-^^ 

That^s his concern,^ ^ said Mark, ill-temperedly. 
You had better ask him.^^ Lording was not a thin- 
skinned man, and Mark knew when irusqiierie of manner 
was harmless to himself, and when it was likely to be 
harmful. To the people from whom he expected nothing, 
he could afford to be impolite if it suited him. He was a 
little sore about this matter of Tonies also, because he had 
calculated on being employed for the defense, and might 
very easily have borrowed a fifty on the strength of it, for of 
course he could not dream of accepting a fee from his 
cousin for such a service. 

Lording looked serious for a moment, but whatever 
fancy assailed him he dismissed it. 

Your uncle is in town,^'’ he said, and has gone to 
see Tom. Perhaps we had better walk up and help to 
smooth things. 

Mark acceded, and the two drove to Montague Gardens 
together. There they found father and son at decided 
loggerheads, the elder in a cold rage, and the younger in a 
hot one. 

‘‘ I have never given you the right to doubt my word,^^ 
Tom was saying loudly as they entered, I never told you 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 125 

a lie in my life, and I claim your credence for my version 
of the story as a right. 

And I demand that if j^our tale be true, sir,^^ his father 
answered him, you prosecute those low fellows for per- 
jury, and clear your name of the stain which rests upon it. 
The old man was naturally indignant. There is pretty 
generally some right on both sides in a real quarrel between 
people who have cared for each other. ‘‘It is an insult 
personal to myself/^ said Mr. Carroll, swelling himself 
anew now that he had an audience, “ that such an imputa- 
tion should rest upon my son.*^^ Tom was very near yield- 
ing. After all, was Miss Moore ^s privacy in a matter like 
this to be set against his father peace of mind? He had 
not thought about this side of the question until now, and 
it moved him a good deal. But Mr. Carroll could not let 
well alone, and unfortunately he went on: “ Whom am I 
to believe, the six or seven sworn witnesses in the case who 
appeared, sir, in the light of day, pr the person who was 
incriminated by their evidence, and who declines to take 
steps for the clearance of his character? Declines, said 
Mr. Carroll, with a white face turned toward his only son, 
“ on a pretense so flimsy and absurd that I can but look 
upon it as a subterfuge. 

“ Am I to understand,^ ^ asked Tom, with a rather 
wicked-sounding expression in his voice, “ that you refuse 
to accept my word upon this matter?^^ 

“ Unless you substantiate it, certainly,^^ said Mr. Car- 
roll, loftily. “ The story as you relate it is sufficiently 
dishonoring to me, but until you establish it I must prefer 
to believe the other and the worse. 

“ That is very unfortunate for both of us,^^ said Tom, 
quietly. After that wild horses would not have drawn him 
to an exculpation of himself. 

“ Tom,^^ cried Lording, “ you mustnT leave your father 
in this way. Carroll, be reasonable.''^ 

The youngster had gathered up hat and stick and gloves, 
and was making for the door. 

My dear uncle, cried Mark, “ forgive me if I suggest 
that you are both a little heated at this moment. I am 
sure TonTs story is the true one."^ 

If Tom and his father quarreled, half Markus income 
stood in peril, 


126 hearts: queeh, kkave, ahd deuce. 

What do you know about the matter, Mark?^^ inquired 
Mr. Carroll. 

I have Tom^s word/^ said Mark. His uncle turned 
away with a mere wave of the hand, and as he turned he 
faced Tom, who felt his father^s gesture almost unbearably 
insulting. 

My father can not accept my word,^^ he said, con- 
trolling himself to outer quiet. That is very unhappy 
for us both, but my fault by no means. 

“ You shahi^’t go,^^ cried Lording with an oath, stepping 
in between Tom and the door. 

‘‘ I will go,^^ said Mr. Carroll, taking up his hat. 

Nephew Mark, may I ask that you will give me your 
arm? Shall I see you before you leave town. Lording? 
Good-day, sir,^^ turning to his son, and good-bye.'’^ 

You sha^n^t go, either,^^ cried Lording again, setting 
his back against the door. 

Sir!^^ said Mr. Carroll, with pompous passion, stand 
aside. I can manage my family affairs without extraneous 
assistance. I disown that fellow. He is no son of mine 
any longer. I repudiate all claims he may make upon 
me.^^ 

Go your way,^^ said Lording, puffing and blowing with 
rage at the other^s tone toward him. You pompous 
idiot, go your way. But mark my words, you ^11 be sorry 
for this to the day of your death. 

Mr. Carroll, with his white face suddenly grown scarlet, 
stood waiting for Markus arm. Mark, with an apologetic 
glance at Tom and Lording, offered it, and the two marched 
out of the room and down the stairs together. The two 
who were left behind stood agaze at each other, listening 
to the creak of CarrolFs footsteps on the stairs, to the jar 
of bolt and chain as the door opened and the crash with 
which it closed behind him. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

Ohce in the street, Mr. Carroll began to compose him- 
self, and in a few minutes withdrew his arm from Markus, 
and walked along without assistance. Mark looked at him 
now and then, when he thought his glance likely to be ob- 
served, with an air of respectful commiseration. 


HEAETS: QtJEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 127 

I am not familiar with this part of London/^ said Mr. 
Carroll, in a little while, and I wish to rest for a time 
before I return. 

You would like to drive to an hotel, sir?^^ asked Mark. 

Shall I call a hansom?^^ 

Mr. Carroll signifying assent, Mark called a hansom, 
and they were driven together to a highly respectable but 
old-fashioned hotel, where the elder commanded a private 
room. His nephew accompanied him, preserving a re- 
spectful silence. Markus clever brains were swimming 
with ideas. How was all this going to turn out? Barring 
himself and Tom, the head of the family had scarcely kith 
or kin, and if the breach between father and son were to 
be lasting, it was almost certain to pro\e a magnificent 
thing for him. 

He^s as pig-headed and obstinate as he knows how to 
be,^^ thought Mark, as he stood near the object of his re- 
flections with an almost deferential air, but I think I 
know how to manage him.*^ 

You have not yet taken luncheon, Mark?^^ asked Mr. 
Carroll. It was his study always to be as little disturbed 
as possible, and though the interview with his son had 
greatly shaken him, he was not going to show more than 
he could help. His only child had disgraced himself be- 
yond recovery, and he had cast him off and was prepared 
to play the Spartan over him. 

Mark, on the other hand, was disposed to think that a 
little mental disturbance would seem becoming in himself 
under the circumstances. If it were only from sympathy 
with his uncle his appetite must needs be a little feeble. 

I don^t care for luncheon, sir,'’^ said Mark. 

Pray order for two,^^ returned Mr. Carroll, and Mark 
obeyed him. A little soup and a bird, or something of 
that kind, Mark,^'’ said the elder, as the waiter entered the 
room. I leave it to you. Show me to a bedroom, waiter, 
in the first instance, and call me when luncheon is ready. 

The waiter obeyed, and returned to Mark to receive in- 
structions. The young man> having dispatched him, 
walked up and down the room, and pausing before the 
mirror, smiled at his own reflection there. As yet nothing 
had happened which might not be smoothed over, but yet 
he thought it extremely unlikely that it should be. 

There is no other such pig-headed fool in Europe as 


128 HEAHTS: QXJEEK, KKAVE^ AKB BEUCE. 

my uncle/ ^ said Mark, pleasantly, to himself. He^s an 
absolute revelation of the possibilities of human egotism. 
The common curse of mankind is his in gieat revenue. 
I donT think he ever had a worshiper at the Trench 
House shrine so far, and I fancy, I fancy that he’d like 
one. Infidels bow the knee at times,^ he went on, with a 
chuckle, and atheist as I am, I can seem to worship 
Thomas Carroll. Tom never had the knack of it, and yet 
he believed in the elder donkey. 

This clever young man saw rose-colored prospects in the 
near distance. To do him justice he would have tried 
to oust Tom years ago if it had occurred to him that there 
had been any reasonable chance of success and no reason- 
able chance of detection. He was a young man in whom 
one sentiment ruled, and one only — a keen desire that 
Mark Carroll should be in all realizable ways prosperous 
and happy. Had he moved in savage circles of the lower 
order he would have found his life-philosophy pretty uni- 
vei’sally accepted, and as a necessity would have had to 
fight for it. As it was he was perfectly aware that there 
were people who affected to believe that such a philosophy 
was shameful. He knew well enough that these people 
had disciples so foolish as really to believe in a creed of 
unselfishness. He had eyes and ears; he read books and 
walked about in the world; he was cleverer than nineteen 
men out of any twenty he encountered, and he knew it; 
and he believed with his whole soul that Folly^s most pro- 
digious birth might be found in the sermon on the Mount. 
In deference to King Humbug, the world ^s one genuine 
potentate, he kept these sentiments to himself. Other 
people pretend to think them shameful, and Mark was 
ready to pretend in all cases where pretense was useful. 

Nephew Mark,^^ said Mr. Carroll, when the almost 
untasted meal had been cleared away, I have something 
of importance to say to you. I do not speak in the heat 
of temper, but after full and complete deliberation. You 
know what disappointment I have suffered at your cousin’s 
hands, and you have seen that I could vindicate the posi- 
tion in which it has pleased Providence to place me. It is 
necessary for once to allude to that topic. I beg that it 
may never again be spoken of in my presence. ^ Mark 
bowed in reverent, sympathetic silence. At my decease 
the estate and the position it carries with it naturally de- 


seams: QUEEK, KKATE, AKB BEtJCE. 


129 


scend to you/^ He was looking at Mark as he said this^ 
and the young man was looking at him. It was Markus 
triumph when that difficult interview was ended that not 
even his eyes had' shown at this juncture a sign of joy. I 
do not claim/ ^ Mr. Carroll went on, that your conduct 
should be regulated by any standard of mine, but I have it 
in my power to do again what I have done to-day. I am 
the custodian of the family honor, and I will be faithful to 
my trust. That is all I need say. I demand nothing 
more of you than the preservation of that honor — unbroken 
and unsoiled. 

How, much as Mark had expected from the quarrel 
between Tom and his father, he had not counted on having 
it placed in his hands so soon, and his undoes speech was 
something of a shock to him. But, in deference to the 
laws promulgated by King Humbug, he felt that some sort 
of unavailing protest in his cousin^s interest was necessary 
and befitting. 

You ask me, sir,^"" he began therefore, to act in all 
things as becomes a gentleman?^^ Mr. Carroll inclined his 
head. 

That is all I ask of you,""^ he answered. 

You offer me ^ position and a fortune to which I 
could never have dared to aspire.'’^ Mr. Carroll inclined 
his head again. If I risk the loss of your favor at the 
first moment of its bestowal you may be sure that the mo- 
tives which animate me are strong indeed. If I ask you to 
reconsider your determination — 

You ask an impossibility,^"^ returned his uncle. Let 
me hear no more of this. Your interference in this matter 
will result in consequences unpleasant to us both. I am 
not blind to the creditable nature of your motives, Mark, 
but I can not tolerate interference in this matter. 

Mark bowed in silence and looked as disappointed as he 
could. He had done what the Absurdities demanded of 
him, and had pretended to be ready to sacrifice his own 
interests for another man^s benefit. As if anybody but a 
fool had ever really wanted to do that! The two egotists 
sat in silence for a time, each filled with himself. The elder 
was naturally a good deal incensed at Tom, and it was evi- 
dent that Tom was altogether in the wrong, and that his 
father Avas absolutely blameless in the whole affair. Mr. 
Carroll had always been blameless. That was one of his 


130 


hearts: queek, kkave, akd deuce. 


characteristics. In his most dispassionate survey of his own 
career he could not find a single peg on which to hang one 
thought of self-reproach. He had never been at fault in 
judgment, never at fault in conduct. It seemed outside 
the pale of possibility that he could be so. As an inevita- 
ble consequence of this majestic self -approval came sweet 
peace. It seemed a sort of added credit to him to have 
been tried in this way, and to have come out of the ordeal 
so magnificently. Sparta nor Eome had never held a 
father who could have behaved better under the circum- 
stances and have cut off his own flesh with a more tranquil 
calm. The world would know it — his world — and would 
approve his action, as it h^id always done and been com- 
pelled to do by the very nature of things. 

When you can feel yourself at liberty, Mark, said 
Mr. Carroll, after this pause, I shall be glad to see you at 
Trench House. I do not purpose to myself to appropriate 
your time and attention, but it will be fitting that you 
should be seen there occasionally, and that by a gradual 
adoption of county duties you should prepare yourself for 
your future position. ^ ^ 

The old ass talks as if I were going to be an emperor, 
said Mark to himself. A man with a sense of humor was 
likely enough to find in Mr. Carroll a continual feast. 

‘‘I can not attempt to disguise from you, sir,^^ said 
Mark, respectfully, that my professional occupations are 
of the most shadowy nature. I go the ordinary rounds, 
but I have nothing to do, and never have had. I find it 
too hard to stoop, as many of my competitors in the race 
do daily, to fish for intimacy with solicitors.'’^ 

Mr. Carroll approved of this sentiment highly as Mark 
knew he would. 

You will find your legal training of great value on 
the bench,^'’ he answered; otherwise you may count 
yourself independent of it. There is nothing ungentle- 
manly or unbecoming to your future place in society in 
the position of a barrister, but I should wish you to be in- 
dependent of your profession, and shall make you such an 
allowance as will be worthy of my own wealth and status.'’^ 
What with his sense of humor, and his triumph at the 
turn his affairs had taken, Mark could have laughed aloud, 
but he repressed himself. He only thanked his uncle with 
becoming gravity and humility. 




HEAETS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 131 

It shall be my study, sir/^ he said, to be worthy of 
the confidence you repose in me. The elder accepted this 
promise and the thanks which preceded it by an inclination 
of the head. 

I had not known,^"" he said by and by, that I might 
spend a night in town, and my portmanteau lies at the 
cloak-room at the Euston Station. I shall be obliged if 
you will accompany me and see it into the van, properly 
labeled. 

With pleasure,^ ^ answered Mark. So I am to be a 
sort of upper flunky or body-servant, am he said to 
himself, Well, the wages are worth it, and I can’t ex- 
pect to get everything for nothing.” 

When the time came he accom2)anied the head of the 
house to the railway-station, and saw him comfortably dis- 
posed. Mark’s manner had never been so suav-C and ami- 
able and respectful. Mr. Carroll did not actually think 
about it, but he felt that he was being treated in a proper 
way, and that his nephew was a young man of sense and 
feeling. 

I shall be glad to see you at Trench House in a week’s 
time, Mark,” said the elder, when they were about to part. 

Can you make it convenient to be there this day week?” 

Certainly, sir,” answered Mark. 

Make arrangements to stay for a week if that be pos- 
sible,” said Mr. Carroll. 

The train started, and Mark paced along the platform 
into the street, smiling, with his eyes upon the ground. 
What a stroke of fortune! 

How little we can guess what is going to happen!” he 
thought exultingly. Why should not Providence take 
care of me as well as of other men? I never looked for it. 

I thought I was going to be a poor devil all my life, and 
the truth is the better by comparison. There’s little danger 
of that sour old numskull turning round in favor of Tom. 
There is nothing so obstinate, so unreasonable, and so fixed 
in its own belief in its own wisdom as a fool; possibly be- 
cause there is a lurking notion underneath that he really 
is a fool, or would confess that he once had been if he 
changed his mind. Oh, my prophetic soul, mine uncle! 
how happy we shall be together! How I shall tickle your 
foibles and how you will tickle mine to be sure! Yours 


133 


HEARTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


being to be flattered as a monument of wisdom, and mine 
to walk in Poolers attire and siller hae to spare. 

He walked home to his chambers in high spirits, and 
surrendered himself to his day-dreams. Day-dreams were 
not much in Markus line as a rule, but for once he felt 
that he had a right to them. He had scarcely sat there 
for half an hour when he heard a step upon the stair, and 
by and by a knock at the door. By force of habit he re- 
connoitered in his usual way, but even as he did so he 
thought with a splendid flush of triumph that all need for 
that sort of discomfort would soon be over. His visitor 
was no other than Lording, and Mark admitted him with a 
sort of grieved alacrity. 

This is a miserable business, Mark,^^ said the old boy, 

a miserable business.'^'' 

‘‘It is, indeed,'’^ said Mark. With Lording, Markus 
concern had a sort of petulance and impatience in it, and 
his manner was most artistically differentiated from that 
he had worn in Mr. OarrolPs presence. “ Tom^s a splen- 
did fellow, one of the finest fellows in the world, and my 
uncle is the best man I ever knew, but they^re father and 
son, and theyWe one characteristic in common. There^s 
no shaking either of them. IVe been talking to my uncle, 
but he wonH listen. Now, I’ll be absolutely candid with 
you, Mr. Lording, because I know I can trust you. You 
Avere a friend of my father^ s, and you^re a friend of my 
lindens and a friend of Tom^s. My uncle has told me this 
afternoon that he means absolutely to disinherit Tom and 
to set me in his place. I^m as poor as a rat — my profes- 
sion never brought me a farthing — and ITn naturally as 
Avilling as most men to be well-to-do, but I canT tolerate 
a proceeding so unnatural. For Heaven^ s sake, don^t tell 
my uncle that I told you this. I know he offended you 
shamefully this morning, but youTl forget that for Tom^s 
sake, wonH you?'’^ 

“ Certainly, certainly, said Lording. “ You^re a good 
lad, Mark. There is no reason why your uncle shouldn't 
do something handsome for you, the estateTl stand it; but 
it’s absurd to talk of disinheriting Tom. The lad has done 
nothing to deserve it, and it^s really too absurd. 

“ Of course it is,^^ said Mark, with petulant heartiness. 
“ But if the breach isnT healed somehow my unde will do 
it, Tom ^cted very stupidly this morningP^ 


hearts: queeh, kkave, akd deuce. 133 

The old man was more at fault than he was,^^ cried 
Lording, who was a stanch partisan. Tom was quix- 
otic and no worse, and by gadP^ the old boy broke out, 
“ that^s a fault on the right side in a lad^s character. I 
shall give your uncle a piece of my mind, Mark. I doii^'t 
care a hang about what he said to me this morning. Old 
friendships between reasonable people are not broken in a 
minute. It^s a poor, bladdery sort of liking that can be 
pricked into nothing by a hasty word, eh, Mark?^^ 

If my uncle once makes this arrangement in my fa- 
vor,'"'^ said Mark, he ^11 be immovable. Anything that is 
to be done must be done at once.^^ 

^‘Certainly, certainly,'’^ said Lording again. You 
are acting very handsomely, Mark, and your conduct ought 
to be worth a thousand or two to you when Tom comes to 
his own. Though I know very well that that doesiiT 
weigh with you. But money^'s a useful thing, Mark, a 
very useful thing. 

‘ ‘ So people tell me, said Mark, with a laugh. 

Any immediate pressure, Mark?^^’ asked Lording. 

A hundred any good to you for a month or two, or a j^ear 
or two, eh?^^ Mark laughed again, and threw up the 
palms of his hands. 

I mustnT borrow, he answered genially. A man 
who has no prospect of paying may just as well steal as bor- 
row.''^ 

^ You may be Lord Chancellor one of these days,^^ said 
Lording. And between friends, Mark — between friends. 

Mark allowed the old boy to pull out his check-book. 

You are forewarned, Mr. Lording,^ ^ he said, with an- 
other laugh. If you insist on lending you can^t expect a 
man so poor as I am to say ^ flo ^ to you.^"^ 

There you are, Mark,^^ said Lording, in quite a com- 
fortable glow of friendship. I shall get down by the next 
train, and see your uncle in the morning and we^ll get 
through this confounded business somehow. And look 
here, Mark, youVe acted well in this affair. Honor is 
honor, and all that, I know, but human nature ^s human 
nature too, and it isnT every man who would do his best to 
throw over such a fortune. 

DonT tell my uncle you know anything from me, ” 
said Mark. I canT afford to anger him. And don^t 
lose any time?^' 


134 


HEARTS: QUEEH, KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


No, no/^ said Lording. Fll keep dark about you, 
Mark, and 1^11 be at him in the morning/^ 

There another blunder-headed old idiot, said Mark 
to himself, as he watched Lording ^s figure down the stairs. 

Go at him in the morning by all means, whilst his wrath 
is nice and hot. The proud fool hasn^t forgotten the pep- 
pery fooTs speech of this morning. Lord, it^’s a world of 
fools, and I am the only sensible man seen this last fort- 
night. Come along,^^ said Mark, apostrophizing the check 
and waving it gayly in the air. I shall have time to 
cash you before the bank closes, but not a minute more. 

The young man was as usual in low water, and had 
scarce seen his way to the visit to Trench House, without 
this unexpected generous loan. A much prouder man 
than Mark might have accepted the loan from Lording 
without offense to his own pride. He was not a happy 
young fellow as a rule, but with a hundred pounds in his 

S ocket and a fortune in the near distance, he knew how to 
e light-hearted for an evening. He sat down that evening 
to an admirable dinner, and drank a bottle of rare old 
Burgundy. Then he dropped in at one of the theaters, 
and being blessed with a good digestion, was ready for an 
oyster supper after the performance, and that being over 
he went comfortably home and slept. 

Lording, full of the most benevolent intentions, called 
at Trench House next morning, and bustled heartily into 
Mr. OarrolFs library, with his right hand outstretched in 
greeting. Mr. Carroll took it frigidly enough and waved 
his visitor to a seat. 

To what am I indebted for the honor of your visit, 
Mr. Lording he asked, icily. 

Come, come, CarrolV^ said the other, ‘‘ doiiT let a 
hasty word sever a thirty years^ friendship between neigh- 
bors. I spoke hastily yesterday, and if I spoke offensively 
Fm very sorry for it."^^ 

Pray let no more be said,^^ answered the other. 

ThaFs right, said Lording. And now, look here, 
Carroll, what about this affair of Tom^s.^^^ Mr. Carroll 
raised his eyebrows, and looked a frozen inquiry at his 
guest. What can an old friend do to mediate between 
you?^^ 

You were present at our interview yesterday,^ ^ said 
Mr. Carroll, loftily, and you were a witness to the man- 


HEARTS: QrEElsr, KKAVE, AND DEIJCE. 135 

ner of our parting. No mediation is necessary between 
us. We have done with each other. 

Good Heavens, Carroll, you can^tmean it!^^ cried Lor- 
ding. It^s barbarous — barbarous — absolutely barbarous. 
What in the name of wonder has the lad done? I had the 
story from his cousin Mark, and there was nothing unbe- 
coming of a gentleman in it from first to last — a bit quix- 
otic perhaps, a little ridiculously tender about the girFs 
reputation, but hang it all, Carroll — 

Mr. Carrolks arctic solemnity froze the good old fellow 
into silence. 

If there is any other topic in the world, said this 
Eoman father, upon which you choose to speak to me, 
I shall be glad to listen to you.^^ Curious, he thought, how 
meddlesome people were. 

You mean to throw Tom over?^^ asked Lording, in 
anger and amazement. 

Mr. Lording,^ ^ answered the Eoman father, I do not 
care to talk upon this theme. 

But I do,"^^ shouted Lording, in his big, hearty voice. 

And what^s more, I have a right to talk about it. The 
lad^s engaged to be married to my daughter, and Fm not 
going to have any undeserved stigma cast on him if I can 
help it. Don^t stare at me as if I were a seven-legged 
horse or a spotted lady. Damn your airs, sir! I stand on 
my rights.''^ 

Sir,^^ said Mr. Carroll, more frozen than ever, if that 
were possible, I can foresee no beneficial result from this 
interview. Y oii are already fully informed with respect to 
my intentions, and I must beg you to regard them as being 
fixed and final. 

You mean to throw Tom over?^^ asked Lording again. 

I have already expressed my meaning fully and com- 
pletely,"'^ returned the other. 

Lording broke out with a great curse. 

You heartless blackguard! ITl post you! Mark my 
words, ITl post you from one end of the county to the 
other. And, by gad, sir! if you throw the lad over, I take 
him in hand. I^ve got enough for the pair of ^em, and 
they shall marry as soon as they like, and live down here 
and be an eyesore to you. 

Mr. Carroll rang the bell with no change in the iciness 


136 


hearts: qtjeek^ kkave, and deuce. 


of his demeanor. Lording, in his rage, turned upon the 
man who answered the summons. 

ril begin here,^Mie cried, with an apoplectic face. 
He seized the man by the shoulders. IJo you see that 
fellow there? Here^s the greatest scoundrel unhung. Do 
you guess what he^s done? Sent off his only son into the 
world because he behaved like a gentleman. 1^11 stop the 
very laborers in the fields and tell "'em of it.^^ 

The door!^^ thundered the master of the house, all his 
icy contempt giving way to sudden anger. 

ITl go when I like and how I like/^ cried Lording, 
shaking his riding- whip in CarrolTs face. He had never 
been a great stickler for dignity, and by this time he had 
very little left. 

The door!^^ cried Mr. Carroll, again tugging madly 
at the bell-pull until it came down in his hands. Three 
or four servants, male and female, ran in alarm to answer 
this remarkable summons, and stood huddled at the door 
of the room. 

You barbarous scoundrel shouted Lording, who 
could scarcely speak for rage. ITl post you everywhere, 
and ITl fight the lad^s cause against you whilst I^ve a breath 
in my body. There^s a villain for you!^'’ he stammered at 
the amazed and frightened servants. Turns his only son 
out of house and home for nothing 

Eemove this madman said Mr. Carroll, with some 
return to calmness. Do you hear?^^ 

At this the enraged old man made at him with his riding- 
whip, but the butler, who was a lusty fellow with no want 
of courage, stepped between. 

CanT stand by and see that, sir,^^ he said quietly. 
Then the others took courage and fiocked into the room. 
The butler led the contingent, with remonstrances and 
prayers to Lording, and, advancing slowly, backed him out 
of the house, he still raging and threatening and cursing. 
He was mounted and more than half way home before he 
recovered himself. All on a sudden he groaned and pulled 
his horse up smartly. 

Well!^^ he cried, disconsolately. I^m a pretty sort 
of old fool to undertake to mediate for a poor lad. The 
fat^s in the fire now beyond a doubt. 

It did not indeed seem likely that his interview with 
Tonies father had greatly advanced Tom^s cause. The 


hearts: queek^ kj^^ave^ and deuce. 


137 


story reached Markus ears through the butler, who was not 
indisposed to be on friendly terms with the new heir, 
though he regretted the fate of the old one. The new heir 
listened to it all with a serious and even an aggrieved ex- 
pression. 

Poor old fellow,^'’ he said. He loved Tom dearly. 
He meant well, Daniels, but it was not the right way to 
take. 

He went away sorrowful, to look at, but when he reached 
the solitude of his own room he laughed until his sides 
ached and the tears were in his eyes. 

A world of fools!^^ said Mark. A world of fools!^^ 

f 


CHAPTER XIV. 

It was plain to Mary Lording that her father was dis- 
turbed, but he ‘Would confess nothing as yet, in spite of all 
her coaxing. Something within herself held her back from 
the plain question she wished to ask, and she avoided the 
mention of Tom^s name. Baretti was far away, and she 
never heard of him except through her affianced lover^s let- 
ters. What with novels and plays, one gets a little tired of 
this eternal theme of love, and the powers of the passion 
are so much insisted on that one grows into a sort of tacit 
unbelief in them. Yet the stories of its prowess are true 
after all, and it makes a full half of the real joys of tlie 
world and a full half of the world^s real sorrow. It was 
not agreeable to the girl to confess to herself that the scat- 
tered mentions of Baretti in Tom CarrolPs letters made 
them welcome to her, and that she read and reread the 
letters for the sake of them. She meant to be honest all [ 
along, and she did battle with her own interest in the 
painter, and despised and hated herself twenty times a day 
because the interest mastered her. But she was going to 
marry Tom Carroll, and to be a true and loyal wife to him. 
To a parely loved girl loyalty meant loyalty in thought 
simply, because active disloyalty, if her own mind had 
hinted at it — as it never could untempted — would have 
looked most monstrously impossible. 

She was not happy as she once had been, but she looked 
for happiness after her marriage, and was disposed to dive 
into matrimony headlong, because it looked as if it were 


138 hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 

the only state in which she could forget her unfortunate in- 
tereist in Baretti. 

I have had a stupid quarrel with a stupid friend of 
mine, my dear,'’^ said her father at last, in answer to her 
coaxing, and I am stupid enough to be annoyed by it. 
That^s all, my darling. Eun away and leave a disagree- 
able old man to himself.'’^ She kissed him obediently and 
went away, and he noticed, not for the first time, that she 
was scarcely as sprightly as she had used to be. ‘‘ Leav- 
ing girlhood behind her, and growing into a woman, poor 
thing,^^ said the father, glancing after her. All young 
things frisk about jollily, and all old ones grow slow and 
sadden down a bit.^^ 

That was a very unusual sort of reflection for Lording, 
but recent circumstances had somewhat depressed him. 
His daughter passed from his thoughts after a little time, 
and he concentrated himself on Tom and that unfortunate 
youngster^ s affairs. It was clear enough now that the elder 
Carroll had meant what he had said to Tom in London, 
but it was on Lording^ s conscience that he himself might 
have been partially responsible for the father^s bitter con- 
clusion. 

‘‘ If I had left him alone, ^Mie thought at times, he 
might have repented. But then he would break out with 
new anathemas against his neighbor. Not he! The 
bowelless scoundrel! The pompous, stuck-up heartless 
prig!^^ 

Lording had many misgivings about Tom^s acceptance 
of the offer he meant to make him. The youngster was 
proud, and it was a hundred to one that he would be too 
high-minded to live as a dependent on the bounty of his 
father-in-law; and yet the old fellow determined to try 
him. For one thing (apart from his love for his daugh- 
ter, and his friendship for Tom, and his resolve to make 
j them happy if he could), this plan was the only one he 
could think of which really bade fair to carry bitterness to 
the elder CarrolFs soul. 

It^s of no use to try to do a thing like this by letter,^ ^ 
he said to himself. I must go up to town and see the 
lad."^ 

He dispatched a telegram, asking if Tom could meet him 
at a certain hour on the morrow, and, receiving an affirma- 


hearts: QtJEEK, KKAVE, AKD EEtJCE. 139 

tive answer, he sought his daughter and told her that busi- 
ness called him back to London for a day. 

Take me with you, papa,^^ said Mary. It is dull to 
be left behind in this way.-^^ 

I neednH start until to-morrow,^^ responded Lording, 
though he itched to go at once, and you can send over 
for one or two of the Harold girls. They’ll keep you com- 
pany."" 

“ You are worrying about something,"" she said, and 
I want to be with you."" 

My darling,"" her father answered, you will be more 
dull and unhappy in a London hotel than you would be at 
home, and I can"t take you about with me. I"m not in 
any sort of trouble or distress. I am only angry with a 
man I used to think well of, and he has turned out to have 
a bad heart, my dear. And now I won"t tell you any 
more about it until it"s all smoothed out again as well as it 
ever can be."" - 

It was almost the first time in his life that he had denied 
her anything, and it was easily to be seen that he was re- 
solved, and was not to be shaken. She elected to remain 
alone whilst he went to London, and stayed behind in some 
anxiety. Tom was in waiting when Lording drove up to 
Number Twenty, Montague Gardens. 

Have you heard from your father, Tom?"" asked Lord- 
ing, after a hasty greeting. 

I had a letter this morning,"" said Tom, and I am 
glad you are here. "" The youngster was much disturbed, 
and spoke with a faltering voice, which not all his resolu- 
tion could keep steady. My father tells me,"" he went 
on, that he has given instructions for the making of a 
new will, which shall set my cousin Mark in my place. If 
I thought I had done anything to deserve this — "" 

Lording got up and shook hands with him. Nothing 
in the world, lad,"" he answered heartily. Nothing in 
the world. "" 

I can"t think I have,"" said the youngster, sadly. 

But there it is, sir, and I know my father well. It is no 
more likely that he will change than it is that I should ask 
him to do so. And, of course, that"s impossible."" 

Quite, quite, quite,"" cried Lording. But now, 
Tom, how about Mary? AVe"re not going to have any 
ridiculous, nonsensical scruples at her expense, are we?"" 


140 


ttEAMS: QtJEEK, KiTAYE^ AKB BETTCE. 


I don^t understand you^ sir/^ answered Tom. 

Well, now^ look here/'’ said the old boy, taking Tom^s 
hand anew, and speaking with hJuff sincerity of voice and 
manner. Mary^s a downright good, honest girl, though 
I say so. I know her well enough to Idc sure of one thing, 
and that is, that shoo’d never say ^ Yes to a man she 
didn^t care for. Now your father can do what he likes 
with his money, but he can'^t do what he likes with my lit- 
tle girl. She's got enough for both, Tom, and I wouldn't 
have any little fancy of hers balked in this way, let alone a 
thing like this. Now, you will get married at once like a 
sensible lad, won't you? And we'll just contrive to rub 
along without the Trench House estate as well as® we can; 
eh, Tom?" 

You are very good, sir," said Tom, looking away from 
Lording to hide his eyes, which were moist at the other's 
generosity and friendship. But — " 

But me no buts," cried Lording. Act like a sensi- 
ble, generous lad, who sets money at its true value." 

No, sir," said Tom, firmly and miserably. I can't 
be a pauper even on your bounty. It's very good. It's 
like you. But I can't do it." 

‘‘Now, come," said Lording, in pretended anger. 
“ You're not going to throw my girl over, are you?" 

“ If Mary will wait for me a little time," Tom answered, 
“ I will try to do something to make a place in the world 
which will be worth her taMng. But it's unfair to ask it, 
and she must take back her freedom. " 

“ I thought better of you, Tom," said the elder, “ than 
to throw your sweetheart over like that." 

“ Don't make it too hard for me, sir," Tom besought 
him. It was hard to lose his love, but it seemed as hard 
to say how hard it was. His own delicacy and the very 
fervor of his passion held him from proclaiming it. “ The 
best thing Miss Lording can do, sir, will be to forget me. I 
hope she will be able to do it easily." His loyal heart did 
strive after that bitter hope, though vainly. 

“ Now, do you mean to tell me," said Lording, drawing 
his most pointed arrow to the head and letting it fiy — “ do 
you mean to tell me that if Mary had lost her last penny 
you'd have thrown her over? What's sauce for the goose 
is sauce for the gander, Tom, and you'll have to come to 
reason. Why, man alive, if you like to work, there's no 


HEARTS: QtiEEK, Kiq^AVE, AiSTt) BEtJCE. 141 

reason why you shouldn't become a distinguished man and 
have us all proud of you. 

Welb sir/^ answered Tom with an unsuccessful smile, 
let me try. If I can bring anything I shall be con- 
tented. 

Very well/^ cried the other, thinking he saw his bent, 
fame^s as good as money, and a great deal better. Work, 
lad, work! You\e got it in you— fetch it out. Take a 
year, and stick to it. I^’ll lay my head to a brass farthing 
you make a mark in that time. Come, that^s a bargain. 

I have thought it all over, sir,^^ said Tom, and T 
know how I ouglit to act. To begin with, I can^t have 
any pretensions to a claim upon Miss Lording. I caii^'t 
ask her to wait for me or to expect anything from me. I 
must give her back her freedom, and it must be complete 
and uncontrolled, and not in any way a pretense. But if, 
in spite of that, I should be able in a year or two to come 
back and say to you, ‘ I am getting on a little in the world, 
and am in the way to earn a little money and to make 
something of a name,^ I might take my chance again with 
her like any other man. Fm not heart-broken, sir, and 
I^m not going to be. If she cares for me as I do for her, 
sheTl wait for me, and we shall be married in the end; be- 
cause no man^s scruples could justify him in spoiling a 
woman ^s life. If she doesn^t, she will have her liberty, 
and will recognize the change in my position, and will 
learn to care for somebody else."^^ 

‘ ‘ Have you got the right to put a woman in that posi- 
tion, Tom?'’'' asked Lording — to make her claim you?^'’ 

“ If I ever feel that I have done anything, I can make 
my appeal to you,^^ Tom answered. IVe told you every- 
thing, sir. IVe told you of some poor hopes of mine 
which ten to one will come to nothing, but they must in- 
fluence nobody except myself. I^m obliged to hold them, 
for I don^t think I could do without them."^ Throughout 
this interview the younger man'’s voice had been kept with 
evident difficulty at a dead level of monotony, but there it 
broke so eloquently that Lording^ s eyes tingled with tears. 
He winked both eyes together and blew his nose with vio- 
lence. 

Answer me one question, Tom,^^ he said, a second or 
two later. ‘‘This isn^t a time for choosing phrases and 
that sort of thing, and so ITl put it plain and straight. Do 


142 


Hi^ARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AiTB BEtTCE. 


you love my daugliter?^^ Now that is not an easy thing 
for some sorts of men to talk about, and Tom Carroll was 
peculiarly sensitive. But he answered, though with diffi- 
culty — 

I don^t think that any man ever loved a woman more 
dearly. 

Very well. Do you think — One more question — 
Do you think that she loves you?^^ That was a matter 
still harder to talk about, but he answered again — 

I believe so.^^ 

Then ITl have no melodramatic nonsense imported 
into my domestic atfairs,^^ cried Lording, and the match 
will go on just the same as ever.”^^ 

Does Miss Lording know the news?^^ Tom asked. He 
had not dared to put the question until now. 

No,^^ said the old boy. I kept it from her until the 
tangle should be straightened.'’^ If Lording had come as 
her emissary, there would have been a temptation in it, 
though even then he was resolved that there was nothing 
for it but to give her back her freedom whilst he dared the 
world. 

Let me write to her,'’'’ said Tom. ‘‘It is the only 
way. I will give her back her freedom — '’^ 

“ And if she refuses it?^^ asked Lording. 

“ I will beg her to wait a year. Oh!^'’ he cried out sud- 
denly, “ don'’! you see how hard it is for me to do my duty ?^'’ 
“ Tom,'’'' said the senior, “ youh’e a good deal of a Quix- 
ote and a bit of an ass, and altogether a right down good 
fellow. I shall stick to you, and my little girl will stick to 
you, and this alTair will stir you up and make you work, 
and we shall all be happy and comfortable together. And 
when Dm gone.youTl be well enough otf for any reasonable 
creature. But confound the money! I did think you had 
a soul above that sort of thing, and Dm a bit disappointed 
in you. Why, in the name of all tliaf’s reasonable, 
couldn'’t you get married and go on working? There, 
there. Never mind. You’re a fine-natured, honorable 
lad, Tom — a bit of an ass, but a fine lad, and I’m as 
pleased with you as if you were a prince and had a million. 
I’m not a fool,” cried the old boy, “ except in places, and 
I don’t pretend to think meanly about money; but I think 
more of my little girl than I do of all the money in the 
world. You’re the man she chose, and I suppose she 


hearts: QUEEi^, KHAVE^ AHD DEUCE. 


143 


wants yon^ or she woiildn^'t have said ^ Yes^ to you; and 
by gad, sir, what my little girl wants she has as a general 
thing, and that you^ll find out when youYe married. 

But it was hard work to swim against the tide. Tom 
was not to be moved just then by any sally of mirth, real 
or pretended, and Lording ^s jollity for once had hardly the 
look of the real thing, or the tone of it. 

I must write to her,^^ said Tom. You will take my 
letter?^^ There was a comfortless feel about the thought 
of its delivery by the post. 

Certainly, said Lording. But before you write it, 
think of what you owe to Mary as well as of what you owe 
to yourself. DonT let any overgrown sense of honor make 
you cruel or selfish, Tom.’^ 

That was rather an out-of-the way bit of analysis for 
Lording, but he was not the first man in whom heart has 
stood instead of brains. Tom wrote his letter, and the old 
fellow went away the while and spent a weary hour or two 
in wandering about the streets. His mission had failed in 
its main purpose, though it had not been totally unproduc- 
tive of result. The youngster, as he wrote, was not hope- 
less. He was himself of so loyal and honest a nature that 
it came natural to believe that after all that had happened 
Mary would hold to him and be true. He had never been 
worthy of her, and never could be; but he would do some- 
thing in a year — the opera was near its completion— to 
achieve fame and to look less unworthy than he had always 
seemed. His letter was not a long one, but it took a long 
time to write, and when Lording came back again it was 
but just finished. Half a quire of blotted and crumpled 
sheets lay in the waste-paper basket at his sk^e, and the 
lover emptied them into the fire almost as his sweetheart^ s 
father entered. 

And now, Tom,^^ said Lording, when he had taken 
the letter, and put it away in his pocket-book, how about 
immediate resources? What are you going to do? You 
must let me help you there. 

I donH need it,'’^ said Tom. The money my mother 
left me brings in nearly two hundred and fifty a year. I 
can live on that, and I will, until I can manage to do 
something to increase it.^^ 

Very well,'’^ said Lording. “ It^s little enough, but 
you can do with it, no doubt. And what are your plans?^^ 


144 


HEAKTS: KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


‘‘ Well/^ said Tom, blushing fierily, there^s an opera 
nearly finished, and I do really believe there "'s something 
in it, and that it can be placed. Hoffmann has looked at 
it, and thinks very well of it.*^^ 

He got out the score and began to turn it over on the 
table, and Lording looked at it reverentially. Whatever 
pertained to executive art was wonderful to Lording, and 
Tom, encouraged by his simple admiration, went to the 
piano and played the opening chorus. When Tom Carroll 
played anything that moved him, his face would grow pale 
and its expression on a sudden curiously mobile and 
changeful, his breathing would become a little hard, and 
there was a score of other signs of artistic emotion under 
artistic control about him. It was rather the observation 
of these signs and the abandonment and vigor with which 
the composer played than the music itself which touched 
the hearer, but he thought he had never heard anything so 
splendid, and he said so. 

What an idiot the lad’s father is, to be sure!” he said 
to himself, as he sat and watched rather than listened. 

All his own stuff, by gad; and what splendid stuff it is 
too!” He could but think how proud he would have been 
had Fate given him such a son, and he sat and admired 
him until he felt all fatherly. And Tom played himself 
into enthusiasm too, for it is so easy to believe in one’s own 
work in the days of youth and hope and self-conceit. A 
middle-aged man who is greatly enamored of his own work 
is perhaps not likely to be good for much, but a lad who is 
not at times in love with the product of his own brains is 
certain to be good for nothing. Tom played the finale of 
the first act, and heard in it a hundred things the listener 
could not know — the soaring soprano and the high warbling 
tenor, and the wail of fiddles, and the long-drawn, snoring 
groan of the ’cellos, and the bird-like tones of the 
flutes — and the white, sinewy hands grasped the keys 
with greater and greater exigence of power, until the 
chamber rang with the rich thunder, and Tom,' as he 
struck the final chord, turned on Lording with'€uch a face 
of triumph and passion that the old fellow leaped to his 
feet, clapped his hands, and shouted Bravo!” with all 
his heart. 

If a lad like that couldn’t get on, what was the good of 
the world at all? 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


145 


This interlude did the composer a prodigious deal of good 
also, in so much that he began to feel almost grateful to liis 
father for having been thus unjustly angry with him, and 
having thrown him thus to struggle with the world. He 
would make even that hard and cruel father proud of him 
and glad to recall his false estimate of him. When he and 
Lording had parted, he went back to his work, and played 
the opera through from start to finish as a whet to the 
artistic appetite. And what a performance he enjoyed, to 
be sure! Airy tongues syllabled the libretto, and the 
orchestra of fancy was perfect at a single rehearsal. An 
hour after midnight he went to bed too tired to sleep, and 
fancy made him a free gift of all he had lost, and multi- 
plied it tenfold with fame and domestic bliss. 

But, before she went to bed, Mary^s father had carried 
his letter to her, and had told her all the story. She was 
awakened already to the fact that there was in the world a 
stronger love than she had thought strong enough to marry 
on, but if ever it could have been possible to find a time 
when she would have been willing to leave her lover, it 
would certainly not be when he was in trouble and distress 
and had most need of all that was left to him. The lovers 
had been close enough together by this time for the girl to 
learn that the young man loved her with all his heart, and 
that she was more than anything and everything else in 
the world to him. She was not the less pledged to Tom 
because he was in trouble. Eather, if anything, she was 
the more bound to him. To that effect she wrote, express- 
ing herself all the more warmly because she found it neces- 
sary to contradict the longings which went out after free- 
dom. Her letter made Tom perfectly happy, and kept 
him at work until the opera was finished, and inspired him f 
so that his music caught a touch of lovers brightness. ! 

A few days later Mark took up what turned out to be a 
permanent residence, at Trench House. The Lordings 
and he saw but little of each other, for Mr. Carroll was so 
mightily incensed that he never forgave his neighbor to the 
day of his death, and resigned his Commission of the Peace 
rather than meet him. But now and again they met, and 
Mary, who had at first been inclined to dislike Mark be- 
cause he had profited by Tomb's misfortune, learned to 
think better of him. The end of the hunting season was 
approaching, and Mary and her father rode to the meet 


146 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ Al^D DEUCE. 


and there encountered Mark. Lording shook hands with 
him cordially, but the girl greeted him with the chilliest 
little bow in the world. But the new heir to the Trench 
House estate had good reasons for standing well with his 
neighbors, and, not being easily abashed, he refrained from 
following the hounds that day, and attached liimself to 
Miss Lording, in spite of the broad hints her manner gave 
him to begone. 

May I speak a word to you. Miss Lording?^^ said 
Mark, as they rode homeward together, and Lording jogged 
on behind in company with a fellow magistrate encount- 
ered on the road. Her manner gave him no encourage- 
ment, but he took her cold silence for consent, ai^d spoke 
his word. In your own mind. Miss Lording,^'^ he began, 

you are doing me a very serious wrong. 

Indeed?^^ she answered curtly. 

You are, indeed,^^ said Mark. You do me the wrong 
to believe that I took the place I hold with the intent to 
keep it permanently. You think me scoundrel enough to 
accept this position at my cousin^ s expense. She looked 
at him strangely — incredulously, Mark thought. You 
will see by and by that I am here as my Cousins’s friend, 
he went on, and that I only serve the place of what in 
Parliament is called a warming-pan. You distrust me; 
you do me the injustice to believe that I would accept the 
position that my uncle offers me; and as a consequence you 
dislike me. I don^t like to be disliked by the Queen of the 
County, and I don^t like to be misjudged. IPs a very agree- 
able little holiday for a poor man like me, if it w^erenT for 
Tom^s discomfort in the meantime, but he knows from me 
that I am doing all I can to straighten matters, and that I 
shall resign in his favor as soon as I have brought my uncle 
round. 

There was an air of jolly candor about Mark as he said 
all this which made the girl condone even the phrase about 
the Queen of the County, which (as may be admitted) was 
not in the very best taste. No young man can be perfect 
all round, and Markus courtships, numerous as they were, 
had one and all been directed at ladies who liked their 
compliments unwatered — neat, as they say of spirits. The 
girl more than half believed him, and, since he could do so 
much for Tom if he were so minded, it was scarcely wise^ 
in Tom's behalf^ to be at daggers drawn with him. 


hearts: queek^ kkave, aetb betjce. 


147 


Confess it/^ said Mark. You thought so ill of me?^^ 
I believed you human^ Mr Carroll/^ she responded^ 
with a spice of satire in her tone. 

I hope so/^ Mark answered. Will you let me tell 
you one things Miss Lording? For a man bred as I was, 
Fve been horribly poor. My profession never brought me 
a penny, and if it hadn^t been for Tom I donT know what 
I should have done. Financially, Fve alwaj^s been a lame 
dog, and Tom has always been helping me over the stile at 
the expense of his own pocket. I remember those things. 
Miss Lording, and I^m not the man to do him an ill turn 
in answer to all the good turns he has done for me. 

Mr. Carroll, said the girl, quite vanquished, I am 
very sorry to have misjudged you.'’'’ She held out her hand, 
and Mark reached across his saddle and accepted it with 
the air of a courtier before a queen. 

In the glow of her partisanship for Tom she felt almost 
certain of herself. Baretti was away, and at times she 
prayed that she might never see him again. And some- 
times the warmth and tenderness of her feeling for Tom so 
carried her away that she would wonder at her interest in 
his friend, and the unknown and curious longing which 
possessed her when she thought of him. But even when it 
was that very warmth and tenderness for Tom which 
brought Baretti into her mind, she would fall into a deli- 
cious day-dream about the artist, from which she would 
awake with terror. 

As for Mark, he had for the time at least j usfcified his 
position. He took to writing little notes to Miss Lording 
in a cousinly, confidential way, reporting the softened feel- 
ings which seemed to be making way in Mr. Carroll '’s 
breast, and in a little while the girl began to look on him 
with friendly eyes, helped by her father'’s constant belief in 
him. 

Why,'’'’ the old fellow would say, he fought his hard- 
est at the time in Tom'’ s behalf, when he knew perfectly 
well what was going to happen. He begged me to come 
down and mediate with that pig-headed fellow, his uncle, 
to prevent him from disinheriting Tom. A very fine, un- 
selfish good-hearted lad is Mark. A bit of a Quixote, like 
his cousin, but thaFs a family trait. '’^ 

Mark, confident in his own astuteness, played this game 


148 


Si:A1RT?S: QtJEEK^ KKAVE;, AKB BEBCE, 


of his without fear of detection. It was a habit of his to 
talk aloud or half aloud when in solitude. 

it < shall bear upon him all their iniquities to a 

land not inhabited/ said Mark, smilingly, as he walked in 
the grounds of Trench House one morning. He had met 
the Lordings an hour earlier, and they had been beautifully 
friendly with him. All these nice people would be ready 
enough to lay their own faults on me and drive me out if — 
I seem pretty safely settled in the pasture now. If any- 
body is injured by my being here it's the girl who is going 
to marry Tom, and if she speaks well of me it^s a high 
testimonial. What a nice girl she is! So charmingly un- 
Avorldly! How faithfully she holds on to Tom in his pov- 
erty! And how sure she is that in a month or two he ^11 
be as well olf as ever! Tom, my boy, I^m afraid youTl 
have to turn out quite a bad sort of fellow. I remember, 
for instance, that you made a single visit to the house of 
one Signor Malfi — a single visit, Tom, and there was such 
a rumpus between husband and wife that they separated. 
But we can do much better than that for you with a little 
thinking. Vm afraid your interest in Miss Moore was 
equivocal, Tom — equivocal. Fm afraid — Fm afraid it^s 
Jikely to turn out so; and there^s scripture for it, Tom. 

‘ The goat shall bear upon him all tlieir iniquities to a land 
not inhabited. I shall have to be desperately sorry, but 
I^m afraid it will be a Christian duty, therefore unavoid- 
able. So far as my experience serves me, a Christian duty 
— therefore unavoidable — is generally beastly nasty for one 
side, and pleasantly profitable for the other. 

It was characteristic of Mark that at this time he spoke 
of his cousin with great freedom to almost anybody who 
would listen to him, and that he always used the most eulo- 
gistic terms. 

My uncle will come round, he would say laughingly. 
‘‘ He^s one of the best fellows in the world, and I can see 
him melting daily. Tonies a splendid fellow, and it^s a 
pity to see such a father and son at loggerheads even for a 
moment. I sha^nT lose by their reconciliation; for the 
simple reason that I never had any claim on the property, 
and never could have. And if I bring them together, I 
have a claim on the gratitude of both of them."^^ Markus 
bonhomie would be irresistible whilst he talked in this fash- 
ion, and his ardor was wonderfully inviting. ‘‘ IFs a very 


HEAMS: QUEEH, KITaVE, AKD EEECE. 


149 


good thing for a poor dog like me, because it makes Tom 
my friend for life when IVe smoothed over his difficulties 
for him. What an ill wind it is that blows good to no- 
body. 

The general impression about Mark Carroll was that he 
was a good-natured, rather easy-going fellow, who was no- 
body'^s enemy — not even his own. 

When I perform my Ohrisfcian duty,^^ he would say 
sometimes, ‘‘ what a dangerous witness I shall be. 


CHAPTEE XV. 

There are many shabby streets on the Surrey side of the 
water, and many grades of shabbiness amongst them. 
Streets sunk into complete poverty and hardship, but bear- 
ing some trace of better times upon them; streets born 
into poverty and hardship, skimpily bred from their begin- 
ning, but fighting hard to look genteel; streets where de- 
cent window curtains and the bit of worthless coral under 
a glass shade in the window make just such a protest 
against their abject surroundings as the mended gloves, the 
suspiciously shiny hat, and the patched boots of the rate- 
payers within — a protest altogether inefficient and mourji- 
ful; streets more desert than Sahara, as desolate in sun- 
shine as the Bog of Allen in the rain; streets on which to 
enter is to be depressed. Cemeteries for live people with 
no flowers to make them bright. Miles of mean sarcophagi 
on end. 

In one such street, the type of many, the houses are built 
of a dirtyish yellowish brick, and the line runs on for near- 
ly half a mile in a staring monotony of hopeless ugliness. 
Frostbitten parlors lie behind the dwarfed railings of 
cabined areas, and the little curio of the resident stands 
plump in the center of the mean window; a bit of coral, a 
set of Indian chess-men, wounded, with the white Queen 
missing; a waxen apple of an unhealthy saffron tinge, with 
a hectic dash of rouge on each cheek; a looking-glass pond 
six inches wide with a dirty lily on it. Always, at the top 
of the glass shade, there is a dejected circle of crochet- 
work, which goes to prove that the owners of the frost- 
bitten parlors are not so harried by the cares of life but 
that they can find time to do something useless. 


150 HEJARTS: QITEEir, KKAt'E, AKD DEUCE. 

The houses in this street are so aggravatingly alike that 
these trophies are memorable to the wayfarer. A band of 
white biscuit china holding a prettily shaped cup, in which 
rested a bouquet of real flowers, ought to have been notice- 
able to any passer by. Perhaps it was that which stopped 
Tom OarrolPs footsteps at the door. 

His hand was raised toward the black-varnished knocker 
— gluey even in the winter time, and always indisposed to 
fulfill its functions — when the door was opened for him, 
and a bright face offered him a dry, unspoken welcome. 
The girPs figure — ^for the shy, bright face was a girPs — 
was tall, and lithe, and full; she was not exactly pretty, 
but was perhaps better than pretty; her eyes were beyond 
doubt beautiful (a soft, warm brown in color), and her 
lips had that mobile and sensitive look which almost every- 
body has known to make a plain face charming. 

“Good morning. Miss Moore, said Tom. “I trust 
your father is better. 

“ I think he is — a little, answered the girl, holding the 
door at its widest, and squeezing herself against the wall of 
the warm passage to make room for the visitor to get by. 
“ He is down-stairs, Mr. Carroll. It is the warmest room 
in the house. 

Tom found his way down a break-neck flight of steps, of 
a width befitting a dolPs mansion, and a depth altogether 
disjoroportionate. The girl followed with a lighter and 
more accustomed foot, and passing by him, threw open the 
door which led into the family vault, or front kitchen. 
There, in a stuffed arm-chair by the fire, sat the elder Car- 
rolFs late tenant, wizened in feature and stiff-set in expres- 
sion. 

“You are better, Moore Tom asked, bending over 
him. 

“ No,^^ said the farmer in a wasted voice. “ Hor never 
shall be. Better? Whereas the chance of bettering a case 
like mine?^^ 

“ Father, dear, said Azubah, “ you mustiiT be despond- 
ent. 

“ MustnT I?^^ he asked, turning his unnaturally bright 
eyes upon her. “ Why not?^^ 

“ Come, father,^ ^ said the girl, seating herself by him, 
and stroking a thin hand, “ you are not always like this.""^ 

“ he answered, with a contortion of the stiffened 


hearts: queek, kxave, akd deuce. 


151 


features which would have been a smile if it could. The 
best of men are not always wise. There^s one cure for my 
disease — church-yard mold — church-yard mold!^^ 

Tom thought this likely enough to be true, but it is not 
easy to sit by and acquiesce in that sort of prescription. 

Come, come, Moore/ ^ said the young man, a little 
feebly. 

God bless my soul, sir,""^ said the farmer, in that thin 
and husky voice of his, there'’ s a bit of sense left in the 
world yet, if Fm the only owner of it. I canT be cured, 
and I’ve got to be endured. There, there, Zubah, take it 
easy. But never ask me if I’m better again. Mister 
Thomas, for that sets my back up. When Fm better, 
bury me; it’ll be all I shall be fit for.” 

It was so unpleasant to sit by and listen to this without 
being able to contradict it that Tom broke in at once with 
the object of his visit. 

What about this dairy, Moore? Mrs. Moore knows all 
about the quality of the things, and you might have a shop- 
woman. ’ ’ 

The farmer, with his withered hands clasping his shrunk- 
en knees, stared at the fire for a time without answering. 

It’s like you to make the offer, sir, and I won’t say no 
to it. I haven’t got the right to say no to it. You must 
let us pay you interest on the money till we can pay back 
the principal, if the thing prospers — and I don’t see why it 
shouldn’t.” 

Very well,” said Tom, that’s a bargain.” He had 

E romised himself this delight before his father’s displeasure 
ad fallen upon him. It took five hundred pounds from 
his resources, but he had not felt the pinch of impecunios- 
ity as yet, and had no fear of it. It is the burned child 
that dreads the fire. 

The missis has been up to the place,” said the farmer, 
and Bethesda’s been with her. They think that — stock 
and goodwill together — it’s worth the money. You don’t 
know Bethesda, Mr. Thomas? He’s a little over-pious for 
my taste is Bethesda, but I think he means well, and he’s 
a keenish man of business. ” * 

At this moment the sticky little black knocker on the 
front door came into reluctant action, and Azubah, ascend- 
ing to answer the summons, returned in a moment with 
Mr. Bethesda behind her. Tom had not been greatly 


152 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND UEUCE. 

noticing the girl whilst he and the father had been talking, 
but he had a general sense of her presence in the room, 
and that general sense had been agreeable. There are 
people who diffuse an atmosphere of sympathy, and thus 
put ail in their presence at ease and make them natural. 
Azubah was one of these people, but when Tom looked at 
her as she came marching into the room, with Mr. 
Bethesda^s large person and holy smile in her train, he 
found a sudden contradiction in her look. She was decid- 
edly not sympathetic any longer, but on a sudden had be- 
come quite hard and frozen. 

My friend said Mr. Bethesda, advancing to the in- 
valid and taking one thin hand between his own fat jDalms^ 
My Christian brother 

My Christian friend returned the farmer, with an 
unmoved face. He followed Mr. Bethesda^s poiTly form 
with an observant, glittering eye. That gentleman bowed 
to Tom, and smiled his humble and beneficent smile at 
him. This is Mr. Carroll, Bethesda, said the farmer, 
the gentleman who is so good as to advance me the 
money for that little business. Mr. Bethesda smiled at 
Tom again, as if to reward him for his kindness. This 
is my Christian friend Bethesda, Mr. Thomas. I was 
speaking of him when he knocked, and saying he was a 
trifle over-pious for my taste, but a keenish man of busi- 
ness, and I think he means well.^^ 

‘‘ Our friend is a caustic humorist, said Mr. Bethesda 
to Tom; a caustic humorist is our friend. 

‘‘ I was telling Mr. Carroll,^^ said the farmer, with a 
waste-sounding cough or two behind his hand, that you^^d 
seen the place and looked it over, and that you think itTl 
be a good investment.'’^ 

With care and prudence, an admirable investment,^'’ 
returned Mr. Bethesda. The shop is well appointed and 
respectably situated. There is no rival establishment in 
the neighborhood. You have seen the establishment, also, 
I believe. Miss Moore?'’^ Azubah inclined her head ever so 
little and looked harder than before. ‘‘ A thriving neigh- 
borhood,^'’ said Mr. Bethesda, and a connection likely to 
increase. 

W'ell, Mr. Thomas, said the farmer, you see that 
you have put us in a fair way to keep our feet again. I 
sliall be a drug on the plaoe for a time, but I can^'t last 


. HEABTS: QUEEK^ KKAYE, AJ^T) DEUCE. 153 

forever, thank God, and when I am gone they^ll do very 
well, I have no doubt/ ^ 

Father, cried the girl in a pained voice, you must 
not talk like that/^ 

Well, well, my dear,^^ said her father; well, well.^^ 

We do not live by bread alone,^^ said Mr. Bethesda. 
The family affections are precious/^ He turned to Azu- 
bah as if to ask her sympathy for this observation, but the 
girl purposely avoided his glance, and Mr. Bethesda^s smile 
sat somewhat forlornly upon his features. 

Is the new place far from here?^^ asked Tom, more for 
the sake of breaking in upon the talk than for the sake of 
the question. 

You haven^t seen it?^^ asked the farmer. Take Mr. 
Carroll round and show it him, Azubah, if he^d like to see 
it. A bit of a walk will do you good. YouTl give me my 
game of chess, Bethesda. Get the board, Azubah. 

Mr. Bethesda^ s consent to the proposal for a game of chess 
was given readily enough, and he sat down to the table and 
arranged the men, whilst the girl ran upstairs to dress for 
out-of-doors. 

Who is Mr. Bethesda?^^ asked Tom, when he and the 
girl were in the street. 

He is Mr. Bethesda,^^ she answered. Her whole man- 
ner had changed, and she was her genial, sympathetic self 
again. ^ I do not like thee. Dr. Fell.'' 

I thought as much,"^ said Tom. He doesn^t look a 
bad sort of fellow, though.'"’ 

He is a very good man, I believe,^ ^ answered Azubah, 
and he has been very kind to father, but — 

Exactly said Tom; a common case enough."^ 
They walked in silence for a minute. 

‘‘I have never told you, Mr. Carroll, said the girl, 
suddenly, how you came to see me at that dreadful place. 
I can^t bear that you should think I went there knowingly. 
It was Signora Malfi who took me there, and I donT think 
that even she quite knew what sort of place it was. 

Miss Moore, said Tom, I donT think Signora Malfi 
is the sort of person for a young girl to know. 

Indeed she answered, a little coldly. 

Indeed said Tom, gently affirmative. 

“ It is not like you, Mr. Carroll,'’^ said Azubah, with 
the air of one who speaks more in sorrow. than in anger. 


154 


hearts: QUEEK, KJSTAVE, AKD i)EUClJ. 


though with a little tinge of anger too — it is not like you 
to speak ill of a poor woman who is deserted by her hus- 
band. 

Deserted asked Tom. I knew nothing of that. 

Yes/’ said the girl. She told me all the story. Her 
husband was jealous of an English gentleman who gave 
her English lessons, and he actually turned her out of 
doors. 

This set Tom thinking, and kept him silent and inat- 
tentive whilst Azubah defended the signora. Mark, then, 
had been right in his belief about the lady, and she had 
been in love with him. It was well, any way, that Mark 
was not to blame, and that he had a good conscience in the 
matter, for Tom^s ideal of virtue was lofty, and to most 
young men of the world in his era would have looked ab- 
surd. He came out of his reverie to hear Azubah talking 
of the signora still, and saying what a brave struggle she 
had made. 

She goes on singing at that place he asked. The 
Megatheri um ^ 

What else can she do?^^ asked the girl, defensively. 

She must make a living. There is no harm in singing 
there, though I couldiiT bear to do it.^^ 

I didiiT mean to blame her,^^ Tom answered. She 
makes an honest living there, and the artistic demands of 
her audience are not beyond her powers. 

DonT you think she is an artist, Mr. Carroll?^^ 

Tom laughed as he looked round at her, and shook his 
head. 

'No/’ he answered, whatever else she is, she is not an 
artist. Azubah looked depressed at this verdict. There 
was no going beyond Mr. CarrolFs judgment in the matter 
of music. About yourself. Miss Moore, said Tom, a 
moment later, ‘‘ if you would study you could sing.^^ 

I hope to be able to study now,^^ she answered, think- 
ing of the bettered hopes of her father^s household. To 
think of those hopes was naturally to think of the man 
who had given them, and who now walked at her side. 
The shy, grateful upward glance she cast at him expressed 
much, but he missed it. 

It is worth trying, said Tom. For its own sake in 
the first place;^ of course, and for the pleasure it enables 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 155 

you to give to others. But there are solid advantages to 
be gained/^ 

I wish I had been born a boy/^ she said, suddenly, in 
answer to the ambitions these words aroused in her mind. 
She blushed tierily a second later at her own vehemence. 

You want to go out and fight the woiid?^^ asked Tom. 
After the Megatherium experience that wa,s an easy guess. 

should like to,'’^ she answered, blushing still. ‘'I 
should like to be able to do something besides pricking my 
fingers with needle-work. 

It is a sort of duty to do whatever you have a power to 
do,^" said Tom. ThaVs rather a loosely CQiistructed 
aphorism, by the way,’^ he added, with a laugh. I mean, 
of course, ^ provided it be virtuous, ^ as the clergyman said 
to the antiquary^ s sister. 

She was not so shy with him as she would have been 
with any other young man of his years. They had known 
each other ever since she could remember, and he had 
never made her feel the difference whicli existed in tlieir 
social position. She had always known the difference, but 
it had never come home to her disagreeably. And he was 
not merely her old companion, but he was both an artist 
and a man. He knew the world, and the world of art 
within it, and he could sympathize with her if she laid bare 
before him her own hopes, and he could tell her how far 
they bade fair to be realized. She burned with all this, 
and her desire struggled with her shyness, until at last it 
won, and she spoke, though with a good deal of tremor: 

Do you think, Mr. Carroll, that I could ever be an 
artist?^ ^ 

A musician? Yes. Certainly. 

Do you think that if I worked hard I could make 
money, by and by, as a singer 

Yos,^^ he said again. Certainly. He did not quite 
^ like the question about money. He himself had never felt 
the want of it, and he said in a grave way: An ambi- 
tion is not likely to lead you far beyond itself, Miss Moore. 
You must have a loftier aim than that if you wish to be an 
artist. 

Yes,^^ she said, simply, but lam obliged to think of 
money too. I should like to do something for my father, 
and I should like to take the heavier cares off my mother'^s 
shoulders. That is why I asked about money, 


15 (> hearts: queek, kkaye^ ahd deuce. 

That is quite right/^ he answered. You will cost 
them something in the first instance, and it is only just 
that you should wish to repay it. You were taking lessons 
from Signora Malfi, were you not? You must choose a 
better instructor. It will not be difficult to find one. Will 
you leave the choice in my hands 

She assented gratefully, and the impracticable young 
man laid another burden upon himself at once. Moore 
would never be able to pay the terms of the teacher of music 
to whom Tom intended that the girl should go, but he 
could make a private arrangement with him, and so save 
the farmer^s pocket and his pride at the same time. It 
would only be a hundred or two, and he could save it in 
other ways, and besides that there was the opera, now 
nearly finished, and ready to be placed. Nobody as yet 
knew what an El Dorado the performance of that great 
work might lead to. 

The teacher of Tom^s choice was not the man whose 
name stood highest in London, but, in Tom^s opinion, he 
was far and away the best, and it was likely that the young 
man^s judgment was not greatly at fault. By special ar- 
rangement the teacher^ s terms were so subdued that the 
farmer was able to pay them, and Tom made up the dift'er- 
ence. 

The Moores knew nothing of his fall from fortune, 
though it is probable that he would have told them of it 
candidly enough had it come about in another way, and if 
they had not been in want of his assistance. And he him- 
self was not fully persuaded that his father was immov- 
able. Markus letters, for one thing, were always cheering, 
and, if they were to be believed, his father was beginning to 
recognize the injustice with which he had acted. Tom 
could not fail to see how handsome and manly it was in 
Mark to try to throw himself out of the saddle in his be- 
half, and he felt extremely kind and grateful toward his 
cousin. A virtue which in himself would have seemed 
downright commonplace and inevitable was admirable in 
another in his eyes. This is not often the case with people, 
but then Tom Carroll was abnormally generous and sym- 
pathetic, looking much more at another man^s side of the 
case than at his own, and seeing his own interests minified 
and another man^s interests magnified, everywhere and al- 
ways. That was not the practice of worldly wisdom, and, 


hearts: queen^ khave^ and deuce. 157 

in short, he was a young man horn to be choused, hum- 
bugged, hoodwinked, and borrowed from. The chousers 
and borrowers mistook him for a fool, naturally enough, 
but then human estimates of human qualities and motives 
were made to differ from the beginning. 

The Opera, being finished, was submitted to various au- 
thorities, and Tom Carroll began to know something of 
the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes. No- 
body openly insulted him, but he saw his own work passed 
over for work which he knew to be inferior, only it had 
known names attached to it, and failed without imperiling 
the judgment of managers. The thing that galled him 
most was that publishers and critics and managers would 
let the score lie for a month together untouched, and then, 
on being reminded of its existence, would send it back 
with the seals unbroken. He was an impetuous young 
man, and at l^st, and after not so very long a time either, 
he came to an impetuous resolution He would take a the- 
ater on his own hook, bring out the opera in English as it 
stood, score a magnificent success — cela va sans dire to 
youthful genius, confident of itself — and shame all these 
sleepy and unawakenable wretches, who had missed their 
share of the glory. Also he would coin a pile of . money, 
and rejoice in the sight of their cupidity from his own Tom 
Tiddler^ s Ground, whilst he picked up gold and silver 
which their itching fingers could not reach. He took no- 
body^s advice about this step, and let nobody know of it. 

To begin with, he examined his funds and found himself 
with a trifle over seven thousand pounds in hand. What 
might it take to bring out an opera in really befitting style? 
Two thousand pounds? He decided on that as being am- 
ple, sold his consols, and set the result to his own private 
account of the bank. Next he issued an advertisement. 

Wanted, the services of a competent and experienced 
theatrical manager. This appearing in the Era drew 
on him a very snow-storm of correspondence, addressed to 
Alpha of such and such a number, in Ely Place. He sat 
over the letters for days, bewildered by an embarrassment 
of choice. It appeared beyond belief that there were or 
ever had been such a number of theatrical managers in 
England as he found to answer that advertisement. But 
there were only a few amongst the mass who gave reliable 
^ixd doffnite information about themselves and their ante- 


158 hearts: queeh^ khaye^ and deuce. 

cedents, and having gradually winnowed these from the 
others, he sat down to weigh and consider their respective 
probabilities. After deep cogitation he selected one A.B. 
as being the most promising, and wrote to the said A.B. 
requesting an interview. A.B. had for six years managed 
the Oberon and for five the Garrick. His record at each 
of those popidar houses was unimpeachable and open to 
inquiry, lie had for the past six or seven years retired 
from active labor, but private speculations had proved un- 
fortunate and he was willing to enter the ring again. Thus 
A.B., who wrote in a large hand, and a somewhat loonder- 
ous and polysyllabic style. Kectitude, business capacity, 
and misfortune in private speculation seemed, taken in 
conjunction, to promise well to Tom Carroll. The meeting 
was appointed to take place at Tom^s own chambers, on a 
certain Monday, at midday, and the young fellow sat 
alone expectant. A ring at the bell a 2 )pri^ed him of the 
probable arrival of his visitor; a knock at the door an- 
nounced the visitor nearer. 

Come in,^^ cried Tom. 

A gentleman to see you, sir,^^ said the maid, by ap- 
pointment. 

And to Tom CarrolCs wonder he beheld the portly form 
and the amiable smile of Mr. Anthony Bethesda. 

Good-morning, Mr. Carroll, said Mr. Bethesda, 
beaming humility and benevolence. I received your let- 
ter, and though I did not know but that the name might 
be that of another gentleman, I half fancied that it might 
prove that you had some knowledge of me. 

Mr. Bethesda^s garments were still decidedly clerical in 
cut, but his white necktie had been set aside, in favor of a 
black stock, and he looked like a bishop in a mild disguise. 

I should not have thought that theatrical management 
had been at all in your line, Mr. Bethesda,^ ^ said Tom, 
recovering a little from his surprise. 

I began life upon the boards, returned Mr. Bethesda, 
and until the year ^63 I remained in active connection 
with stage life. My record is remembered yet, I have 
reason to believe, and if you will take the trouble to refer 
to the gentlemen whose names I have given, they will 
speak of me favorably.'’^ 

Yes,^^ said Tom, and demanded his terms. Mr. Be- 
tbesda gave them, and they seemed moderate enough. 


HEARTS: QUEEH, KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 159 

Whether I should be so fortunate as to meet your ap- 
probation or not, Mr. Carroll/"’ said the applicant, ‘‘ I 
should like to ask one favor of you if I may. May I rely 
upon you not to mention this application — at present at 
least — to any person you may happen to know in the im- 
mediate neighborhood of my present residence. I know 
the prejudice which exists amongst the breth — amongst re- 
ligious people as a mass against the theatrical profession, 
and I might damage my own usefulness if my return or 
intended return to my old line of life were known. 

I have to concern myself with nothing, Mr. Bethesda,"’^ 
said Tom, but your fitness for the position you ask for. 
If you have any private confidences, I shall respect them. 
I want a first-rate theatrical manager, and I must have 
one."’^ 

I was said to be a first-rate manager in my day,^^ said 
Mr. Bethesda, meekly, and I have forgotten nothing. 
Except the profanity which once seemed necessary to the 
due fulfillment of a manager's duties."’^ 

Well, Mr. Bethesda, said Tom, I shall make in- 
quiries in the direction your letter points me to, and ITl let 
you know within the week."’"’ 

Mr. Bethesda withdrew, and Tom set about his inquiries 
that afternoon. 

‘‘Bethesda?^*’ said the present manager of the Oberon. 

Bethesda? Oh, yes! I knew Bethesda. Competent? 
Rayther. Smart man was Bethesda — very smart indeed. 
Honest and reliable? We-el, I should think so. Never 
heard anything against him. Left everything here in apple- 
pie order. Gave perfect satisfaction. Mr. Bethesda com- 
ing back to business, sir? A decided acquisition, I should 
say, to any house in London. 

So far good. Future inquiries confirmed this favorable 
verdict, and Mr. Bethesda was engaged. 

Now my first step, Mr. Bethesda,^ ^ said Tom, will 
be to rent a theater. 

I have made inquiries already,^"’ said the new man- 
ager. The Garrick is in the market. Rent two thou- 
sand. 

Tom Carroll whistled, but a moment ^s reflection reas- 
sured him. It would be ridiculous to include the yearns 
rent of a theater in your estimate for bringing out a work. 
You must have a theater to begin with. 


160 hearts: QtJEEK, KKAYE, AKT) nElTOE. 

First-rate liouse/^ said Mr. Bethesda. Enjoys a 
good reputation, and is in fair repair. Has an admirable 
situation also. Shall I see about it?^^ 

Yes/^ said Tom, with a little inward chill, ^^youM 
better see about it. 

And what are we going to produce, sir?^^ asked Mr. 
Bethesda. 

Opera,^^ said Tom. 

Bouffe?^^ asked Mr. Bethesda. 

! No. Serious opera. 

Italian asked Mr. Bethesda again. 

No. English. 

Mr. Bethesda whistled. 


CHAPTEE XVL 

In four weeks^ time the piece running at the Garrick 
dried up for want of audiences, and Tom entered upon his 
lease. Mr. Bethesda placed cunning paragraphs here and 
there, and did his best to excite public interest in the new 
fortunes of the house. The lessee and the manager held 
many lengthy consultations as to the artistes to be engaged, 
and Tom was for having everybody of the best to be got 
for love or money; but he paled a little at the terms peo- 
ple asked. He began to see in a fortnight or thereabouts 
that he was risking nearly everything, and that a failure 
would break him. This discovery, after depressing him 
for a little time, awoke all his energies, and he worked and 
schemed all the day and half the night. It was impossible 
to get together such a body of performers as he wished for 
without considerable delay, but before eight weeks had gone 
by, since Mr. Bethesda'’ s engagement, the band was in re- 
hearsal daily, and Tom was conducting in person. 

At the second or third rehearsal, Mr. Bethesda entered 
with a card between his thumb and finger. He waited for 
a pause, and then handed the bit of pasteboard to his em- 
ployer. 

I was unwilling to disturb you, sir,^^ he said, ^^but 
the gentleman was so certain that you would admit him — 

‘‘ Where is he?'’^ cried Tom, throwing down his bdton. 
In another minute he was in the corridor of the house, 
shaking hands with Baretti. My dear old fellow! How 


HEARTS: QUEEH, KHAYE, AHD DEUCE. 161 

glad I am to see you! Why didn^t you let me know of your 
coming.^ Come in, come in. 

Baretti came in, after shaking hands half a dozen times. 

I reached London this morning, he said, and they 
told me at the old place where I should find you. What 
are you doing? Is your opera accepted 

Yes,^^ said Tom, gayly. In spite of his anxieties he 
could be gay again at sight of his friend. The opera is 
accepted by the lessee of the Garrick Theater, Mr. Thomas 
Carroll.^" 

You have taken the house ?^^ asked Baretti, and Tom 
nodded in response. Let me listen to the rehearsal. I 
must not interrupt your work. Go on.^^ 

Tom resumed the baton and the work went on again, 
the little artist beating time with his hand and nodding his 
Lead to the music, as he stood in the dusk behind. The 
composer was ready to dismiss the band earlier than usual, 
lor he was eager to talk with Baretti, but the new arrival 
would not hear of this, and the customary day^s work was 
gone through. When the two friends at last quitted the 
theater and reached the clearer light of open day, Tom saw 
Lov.^ pale Baretti was, and noticed a look of pain and trouble 
in his face. 

I have not been wml,^^ the painter answered to his in- 
quiries, and I have been uncomfortable. There is no- 
body at Naples. It was sad to be there, Carroll. The old 
friends are dead, or they have wandered away, or they are 
changed, and Naples is no place for me any longer. 

Have you been working too hard?^^ asked Tom. You. 
look as if you had. 

Perhaps I have,^^ said Baretti. I have had nothing 
but work to occupy me, and I have felt restless when away 
from it."^^ 

Tom took the little man home, and they spent the whole 
afternoon in talk. 

The scenery goes for something, said the painter, as 
they sat smoking together. Have you made arrange- 
ments for it?^^ 

I have left all that to the manager, Tom answered. 

It is ill hand, I know, but I don^t know who has ifc.^^ 

You must let me paint one scene, at least, said 
Baretti, decisively; I must have a finger in the pie.^^ 

So you shall, old fellow,'"^ cried the other, and they 


162 hearts: queeh, knave^ akd deuce. 

began to talk busine^s^ Tom laying down the lines of the 
opera, and Baretti listening, pencil in hand, and sketch- 
ing as he listened. 

The artist had not spoken of Mary, though she wasi 
uppermost in his thoughts, but he began to glide toward 
the mention of her name. 

Your father,^ ^ he said, as he stooped over his drawings 
is he well?^^ 

I believe so,^^ answered Tom. 

And all the people at Overhill 

They are all well according to the latest advices, said 
Tom, trying to speak carelessly. He could not as yet 
bring himself to tell of the separation which had taken 
place. • 

I had expected to hear of your marriage before this,^^ 
said Baretti quietly. 

That is deferred for a time,^^ said Tom. 

Deferred?^ ^ asked Baretti, without looking upc 
‘‘ There is nothing the matter?^^ 

Well, there is,""^ Tom answered, reluctantly. I am 
not on very good terms with my father just at present.'’^ 

He disapproves of your having taken the theater 

No,^^ said Tom. He doesnH know of it. It^s 
another matter. IM rather not talfe about it no^, Baretti,, 
if you donT mind.^^ 

I beg your pardon,^ ^ said the little man. The mar- 
riage deferred? What might that mean? That devil of 
Egotism, who lies in wait for every man, sprung out of 
him, and assailed him. Was there a straw of hope to cling 
to after all? But Baretti, in the dreary and lonesome days; 
which had gone by since his departure from England, had 
slain that demon too often to be conquered by him now, 
and he put the tempting thought away from him. Only 
he felt that if he had guessed of any hitch, or the possibility 
of any hitch in Tom CarrolBs love affairs, he would have 
stayed away from England still. 

The upper rooms being still vacant, Baretti took them 
again and worked there as of yore. When he had first met 
Carroll on his return he had noticed no change in him, 
but with intimate intercourse there came times when the 
youngster was off his guard and let his care-worn face peep 
out from beneath the mask of cheerfulness he habitually 
wore. And the more care-worn and anxious Tom looked. 


hearts: queek^ kxaye^ and deuce. 163 

the oftener, and with the more force, Baretti^s demon of 
egotistic hope assailed him, until the painter felt wretched 
with his own temptations, and ashamed of his own base- 
ness, though he fought them like a hero. He would sit 
over his cigar in his friend ^s room of a night, watching 
Tom^s thoughtful and anxious countenance with a look 
which his own self-accusations made tenderer and more 
watchful than it would otherwise have been, and once or 
twice the new lessee caught this fixed gaze, and seemed to 
read a sort of reproach in it. If he were sure of anything 
in the world, he was sure of Baretti^s friendship, and so 
honest a devotion merited confidence. And besides that — 
setting his own delicacy apart — he wanted sympathy, and 
he was beginning to be sadly in need of hope, and he knew 
that Baretti would have both for him in plenty. So at 
last he told the story. 

He met the little man^s brooding, watchful glance so 
full one night, and his own glance recognized so completely 
the anxiety and friendship of it, that Baretti arose and laid 
both hands upon his shoulders. 

Carroll, he said, I do not ask you for any confi- 
dence you do not care to give, but you are in trouble. Can 
I help you,^ Any way? You can ask me nothing that I 
will not at least try to do. You know that?^^ 

It was in answer to this appeal that the story came out. 
There was a terrible temptation to Baretti s selfish hopes 
in it, but he listened quietly and fought his demon, and 
gave Tom in full measure all the sympathy and all the 
prophecy of ultimate success he stood in need of. 

Lording was right, cried the painter, marching up 
and down the room in his old way. The money can not 
be allowed to make a difference. You are right also. 
Justify your own aspirations. Work. This is no world 
for idle people. Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, 
like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious 
jewel in his head. It is not natural to think that your 
father will always be wrong, and you will be all the better 
for having been thrown for a time upon your own re- 
sources. You will be a great man, Carroll. I tell you so, 
and I know what music should be. You have a spark of 
tbfe fire Prometheus stole. 

I shall work,^^ said Tom, a little shame-faced as usual 
at Baretti ^s enthusiasm. His friends at least believed in 


164 HEAETS: QUEEN^ KifAYE^ AND DEUCE. 

him, and everybody knows what a help that is in any sort 
of doubtful enterprise. 

You will work/'’ said Baretti, and you will prosper. 
England is in need of some man to come to the front in 
music. When the right man comes she will answer. 

Yes/'’ said Tom, when the right man comesT^ 

Work!^^ crjpd the painter, again turning upon him ve- 
hemently. Believe yourself the right man, and do jus- 
tice to the conviction. I never paint a picture which does 
not seem whilst I paint it the most excellent and beautiful 
in the world. I can see its faults a week after, but if it 
had faults whilst I worked at it I could do nothing. Be- 
lieve in yourself. It is the only way to greatness.'’'’ 

Tom broke out laughing, and at that Baretti laughed 
also. 

But there is something in what I say after all,^^ said 
the little man, with extreme gravity, a moment laier. 

At this juncture the maid tapjDed at the door, and, being 
invited to enter, asked for Mr. Baretti. 

A gentleman to see you, sir,'’'’ said the maid. I went 
to your own rooms, sir, but I thought you might be here. 

Baretti took the card from the salver the maid carried. 

Ask the gentleman to walk up to my rooms, he said. 

This is my friend, Malfi,'’^ turning to Tom. You re- 
member meeting him once with me? I will bring him 
down by and by, and we will have a little music. 

Now Tom was uot particularly anxious to see Signor 
Malfi after what had happened with respect to Cousin 
Mark, but he had no such active objections to him that he 
could bring himself to forbid him his rooms. He could at. 
a future time give Baretti a hint of what had happened^ 
and Malfi would not be likely to come again. The painter 
went upstairs to meet his friend, and Tom lit his pipe and 
sat down to his score. Even now that the opera was in 
full rehearsal he could scarcely keep his fingers off it. 

Baretti was lighting the gas when Signor Malfi presented 
himself. He kissed the artist on both cheeks, and the art> 
ist kissed him on both cheeks, and then they sat down and 
began to chatter animatedly about trifles. 

And how is madam ?^^ asked Baretti in a minute or 
two. The singer stretched out a hand against h^n, as if*to 
push that theme away. 

What is the matter?'’^ asked the other in surprise. 


hearts: queen, knaye, and deuce. 


165 


I have dismissed her/^ said Malfi, darkly. ‘‘She 
played me false. I have never thought of blaming you for 
it, but you began it.*^^ 

“ I began it?^^ cried Baretti, in amazement. 

“ You met me with Caterina one day in the streets,^^ 
explained the singer. “ There were two Englishmen in 
your company. O^ne of them spoke Italian. 

“ Malfi,^'' said the painter, “ they are both as honorable 
and open as the day.^^ 

Signor Malfi^s loud laugh of scorn at this declaration 
was not pleasant to listen to, nor was his face pleasant to 
look at when he laughed. 

“ If you suspect either of them, you wrong yourself,/^ 
said Baretti. 

“ He used to visit her, I tell you,^’ cried the operatic 
tenor, leaping to his feet and declaiming with prodigious 
gesture, “ under pretense of teaching her his own accursed 
language. I hired an attic on the other side of the street, 
and watched them through my glasses for hours together, 
and saw them kissing one another. I tracked her one 
night to his rooms, and though he had hidden her some- 
where when I ■ followed her, I know that she was there. 
He came out when I had left to see if I were altogether out 
of the way, and in a little while she left his rooms alone. 
I followed her home and told her what I knew. It was a 
wonder I did not kill her then and there. If he had been 
half as enraged then as the telling of the story made him, 
it looked a wonder still. His swarthy face had taken an 
ugly tint of whitish-green, and his heavy lips were pallid 
and so dry that he had to moisten them between every sen- 
tence with his tongue. “ I told her what I knew, and she 
proclaimed it all and dared me.*^^ 

Baretti sat amazed. 

“I bade her go/’ pursued Malfi, “and I threatened 
him. I told her that he should not live to boast of his 
conquest. Then this came out — that my visit to his rooms, 
whilst she was there, had so frightened him that /le had 
cast her off. ‘ You may leave him to me,^ said Caterina. 
She will kill him,^'' he continued, with a rejoicing smile, 
“ and then the law will hang her, and I shall have a safe 
revenge upon them both. 

This rejection appeared to soothe him. He smoothed 
all his ruffled feathers at once, and, sitting down, lit a 


166 


hearts: queej^", knave^ and deuce. 


cigar and smoked it, with the rejoicing smile now broaden- 
ing and now fading in his eyes. Baretti had been ready 
with a question, which was stopped by this last statement. 
He had been about to ask how it was that the signora had 
not run to her lover when Malfi sent her packing, but the 
query was answered beforehand, and he sat silent. The 
singer also kept silence for a while, and, being left to him- 
self, gradually assumed his ordinary aspect and manner; 
and they talked about indifferent things indifferently for 
half an hour, when Malfi rose to go. Baretti saw him out, 
and on his return to his own room was waylaid by Carroll. 

You didnT bring Malfi down after all,^^said Tom. 

To tell you the truth, I^m glad of it. I donT want to 
meet him. There has been some disturbance i)e tween him 
and my cousin Mark. ^ 

‘‘You knew of that?^^ asked Baretti. 

“ Yes,^^ said Tom. “ It seems that Malfi wasnT mar- 
ried to that woman whom he called his wife. Mark gave 
her lessons in English, and she took such a fancy to him 
that he got afraid of her and asked me to go and sit at the 
lessons to keep clear of scandal. I went once, and no 
more. But the lessons seem to have come to an abrupt 
termination; Malfi got jealous, and the woman left him.'’^ 

“ She was not his wife?^^ said Baretti. “ I did not know 
that.'^^ Tom^s account of the matter threw a new light 
upon it, and he was puzzled as to the true color and dimen- 
sions of the whole affair. 

“ Has Malfi said anything to you about it?^^ inquired 
Tom. 

“ Yes,^^ said Baretti, and began to tell Malfi^s story. 

“ ITl tell you exactly how it is,^^ said Tom when the 
painter had finished. “ The woman pestered Mark, as was 
fairly well proved by his asking me to go with him — she 
hunted him up at his chambers — this jealous Malfi fellow 
follows her — Mark to avoid a row hides her, and tells her 
afterward that she must bother him no more. It^’s as plain 
as a pikestaff. 

Baretti said nothing and seemed to acquiesce in Tom^s 
view of the case, but the whole thing set him thinking. 
He was not by nature of a very suspicious turn of mind, 
and he had been well disposed to Mark Carroll, but the 
idea had got fixed in him somehow or other that Mark had 
been making a cat^s-paw of his unsuspecting cousin. 


hearts: queex, khave, and deuce. 


lG-7 


Baretti^s life liad not been what Tonies had been, and to an 
Italian youngster Markus affected prudery looked affected. 
And having regard to Markus present position in relation 
to Tom^s affairs, the painter began to think that any at- 
tempt to hoodwink the said Tom would speak poorly for 
Markus do7ia fides. Baretti would have thought little 
enough of an intrigue — until he fell in love — but he would 
have managed it by himself, and would not have tried to> 
drag into it another who was innocent of it. If Mark had 
acted as he guessed, Mark was not to be trusted. Every- 
thing was vague enough just now, but there was ground 
for suspicion, and Baretti was uneasy in his friend^’s be- 
half. 

His uneasiness led him to ask after a little time for a 
look at Markus letters, and they more than half converted 
him, they were so hearty in their tone, and recognised so- 
plainly the impossible motive of the elder CarrolTs wishes. 

In the meantime, wrote Mark, I am, of course, in 
clover, and if it were not for a sense of your anxieties I 
should be comfortable. But thfere is nothing to be feared 
at the finish, and you have, in your mother^s fortune^ 
enough to live on for a dozen years in comfort, even if your 
father^s mistaken animosity could last so long. But he is^ 
melting day by day, and though a constant advocacy would 
be injudicious with a man of his determined temper, I put 
in a word when I can, and it is easy to see that in a little 
while he will begin to show symptonjs of relenting. Don^k 
answer me, for I dare not have it known that I am in cor- 
respondence with you. And I rely upon you not to offend 
your father with me either now or hereafter by any procla- 
mation of the part I played. I am too poor to dare to offend 
him.^^ This all seemed honest enough, and it was hard in 
the face of it to retain suspicion, but Baretti was still a 
little uncertain, and would fain have kept a watch oh 
Mark if he had seen the way to do it. 

It had appeared upon inquiry that there was ample room, 
for Baretti^ s efforts toward the fitting production of 
Tom^s opera, and the devoted one spent a week or two in 
hard work at the designing of scenes and in superintending 
their execution. The acute Bethesda circulated new para- 
graphs respecting this. The celebrated artist had been 
especially retained to design the scenery and dresses- 
Baretti^ s recent pictures had brought his name a good deal. 


168 HEAKTS: QUEElSr, KiiTAVE, AND DEUCE. 

to the front, and the announcement was not without its 
yalue. 

Tom wrote to Lording that the great work would appear 
at a given date, and the old bo}^ took Mary up to town to 
hear and see it. The furniture in the town-house was 
stripped of its brown-holland grave-clothes — for why should 
the young people be kept apart more than need be? — and 
Tom, of course, was free of it and went and came as he 
pleased. Lording took to haunting the theater, and was 
amazingly proud to meet singers and bandsmen in the act- 
ual pursuit of their vocation behind scenes. Mr. Bethesda 
was publicly announced as Lessee and Manager, and Lord- 
ing had no idea of Tonies venture in the business. Tiie 
youngster was sorry for the deception, but Lording knew 
his financial position so well that Tom foresaw a quarrel, or 
something very like it, if the truth should be revealed. 
The elder would Tiave been sure to want to share the risk, 
and Tom had fully determined that nobody else should en- 
danger a penny. He lived in alternate hope and dread. 
Success meant everything lie wished for. Failure meant 
the complete extinguishment of his hopes, except in the 
improbable contingency of his father ^s relenting. The 
young nian^s hopes and fears were in proportion to the 
reality of affairs, and his face looked worried and anxious. 

"But no hopes and fears can stop or hasten the course of 
the days, and the g^reat night took its own time in coming. 
The house was crammed in all the better parts, but the 
gallery was very sparsely peopled, hlobody took notice of 
that significant fact except Mr. Bethesda. Tom conducted 
in person on this first night, and Lording and Mary had a 
private box almost immediately above him. Baretti sat in 
the stalls and saw them when he came in. They saw him 
also, and he was constrained to acknowledge their presence, 
though he would rather have passed unobserved. The 
thought of Mary^s nearness disturbed him, so that he heard 
nothing of the music for the first half hour, and scarcely 
noticed the burst of applause which greeted his own stage 
picture when the curtains rose. Mary^s thoughts about 
Baretti were contradictory. She had been longing to see 
him, and her hearths only good had been to hear of him 
for months past; and now that he was back again she was 
angry that he was there to disturb her loyalty to Tom, and 
to close her ears to Tom^s opera. 


hearts: querist, kkaye, akd deuce. 169 

The subject of the work was the story of Godiva, and 
Tom was his own poet and playwright, a fact which did 
not tell greatly in the opera^s favor, perhaps. Yet the 
first performance went well; the principal performers were 
called and recalled, one or two movements were redemand- 
ed, and at the close the composer received, what it is the 
fashion to call an ovation. It is probable that ovations . 
went out of fashion in England with the hustings, but we 
keep the word for different uses. 

Mr. Bethesda displayed a chastened joy, and Tom ran. . 
round to the box in which his goddess sat, and was there 
congratulated. The girl was going to marry him, and be 
loyal to him, and the very treason of her own heart made 
her anxious to be warm and kindly to the lover who had 
suffered so undeservingly. She thought with a flush of pride 
that she would have a man for a husband, and not a male 
clothes-horse, as ninety-nine out of every hundred of the soci- 
ety men she met seemed to be. For she despised the young 
men of average intellect, who made it a point to veil what 
wits they had, and she admired with all her heart the men 
of brains who wrote books and music, and painted pict- 
ures, and guided the destinies of States. You gave her 
more delight if you took her where she could change a word 
witli a statesman, a popular writer, or a memfer of the 
Forty than she could extract out of a score of dancers,, 
though she liked dancing well enough too, and was not in- 
disposed to receive the admiration she met in a ball-room. 
To-night the whole world present had done homage to her 
husband who was to be, and the pride and joy in Tonies, 
face was reflected in her own. 

Baretti, who had been delayed in leaving the house by 
the slow stream that crawled idly out of stalls and balco- 
nies, could not refrain from one look in the direction of 
Lording^ s box. He knew where Tom had run to after his 
final bow, and he saw the glance almost of exultation with 
which the lovely woman held out both hands to welcome 
him. Lording and Tom, as the fates would have it, caught 
Baretti looking, and they both beckoned him so plainly 
that he could not pretend to have missed the invitation, 
and reluctantly m^e his way round to them. Maiy 
schooled herself to receive him, and there was nothing in 
her manner or in his to indicate the tremor each felt at the 
other ^s presence. 


170 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KNAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


The painter was pale and sad, but he brightened and 
warmed over his friend’s success. 

I told you, Carroll,” he said, that there was a need 
for some man to come to the front in music. And I told 
jou that England would listen when he came.” 

We shall see,” Tom answered, brightly. He was as 
happy as he had ever been. The fortune his father had 
taken from him so wrongfully might be restored or kept 
for Cousin Mark. He cared nothing for it. With the ex- 
perience of that night behind him, he felt that he could 
carve his own way to fortune, and had no need of extra- 
neous help. He was glad that for a time he had been 
thrown upon himself. 

You will excuse me now,” he said. I must not for- 
get my company. I must run round and thank Eoselli. 
He sung magnificently. So did Madame Lavigne. I must 
say a word to them. May I call for half an hour later on? 
Then, no good-byes at present. Will you come, Baretti?” 

He ran down to the greenroom, followed by his friend, 
and the singers there applauded as he entered. Mr. Be- 
thesda was opening champagne for the baptism of success, 
and Tom clinked glasses with a score of people. Every- 
body congratulated everybody, and the scene was particu- 
larly gay and animated. 

“If we go on like this, Bethesda,’^ said Tom, as he 
drew on his gloves and buttoned his overcoat to go, when 
all this exuberance was over and the room was cleared — 

If we go on like this, Bethesda, we shall make our fort- 
unes. ” 

“ Well, no, .sir,” returned Bethesda; “ we sha’n’t quite 
do that, but the thing is evidently going to be much less 
costly than I feared. ” 

“ You thought we should lose money on it,” said Tom, 
lightly. 

“ Well, sir,” said Bethesda, with his humble and com- 
passionate smile, “ that’s inevitable, of course, where the 
house won’t hold enough for the nightly expenses.” 

Tom Carroll fairly glared at the smiling manager until 
his smile faded, and he stood rubbing his hands with an 
aspect altogether rueful. 

“ Is that the case here?” he demanded, after pausing 
half a minute. 

“I thought that was clearly understood, sir,” he said. 


hearts: QUEEN^^ KK'AVE, akd deuce. 


171 


I laid the figures before you clearly. There has never 
been such a company got together before in a house like 
this, and after this night^s reception the thing is safe to go* 
for awhile. But if you cram the house every night, we^re 
just five pounds under the sum of our working expenses. 
Taking to-night as representative, the loss would he fifteen 
pounds. The gallery was almost empty. 

Call it a loss of a hundred pounds a week, Baretti,^^ 
said the successful composer, turning bluntly on his friend. 

I canT afford to go on long at that rate.^^ 

Call it two hundred a week, sir,^^ said Bethesda, mild- 
ly. It will be nearer that than the other. 

Then we sha^n^t make our fortunes, after all, Bethes- 
da,^"" said Tom, recovering himself. Good-night. Come 
along, Baretti.^^ 


CHAPTEE XVII. • 

The Signora Caterina was walking along the Strand in 
a melancholy and despondent mood. She was not so well 
dressed as itiad been her custom to be, not nearly so well 
dressed as she liked to be. Her finery was naturally all 
the worse for having been fine, and its showy colors gave 
signs of having been cleaned too often. Bronzed boots,, 
gray at the toes, soiled lavender gloves mended, a plush 
coat or mantle creased and threadbare, and a hundred other 
signs of poverty and decay were noticeable about her. 
These broad indications of late outrageous finery and pres- 
ent poverty, taken in conjunction with the signora ^s silly 
habit of disfiguring her eyes and eyebrows, gave her an as- 
pect which was worse than she deserved to wear, though it 
has been admitted already that she was not a model wom- 
an. But there are grades in everything, and she looked 
many grades lower than she had fallen, or was likely to fall. 

She held her head well up, and walked with a certain 
pride and defiance in her aspect which made her shabby 
finery the more remarkable. Men stared at her broadly^ 
women with sidelong glances of aversion drew away from 
her if she paused at a shop-window, and, proud as she 
looked, the tears were near her eyes pretty often. She was 
by no means a tearful young woman as a rule, but there 
are physical conditions w^hich make room for the play of 
the more mournful emotions. One of these conditions 


172 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

may be brought about by hunger, and the signora was 
hungry. TUe sensation until a day or two ago had been 
unknown to her. There are millions of people in the world 
who have never been hungry in their lives, and she had 
been amongst them. She had thought herself hungry 
often enough, and had always owned a fine, healthy appe- 
tite, which had made the dinner-hour a pleasant time, so 
long as it brought dinners with it. But now she knew 
what hunger meant, and its cruel, yearning nausea burned 
her, and bit at her, and sickened her, until she could have 
snarled like a wild animal at the unattainable tempting 
things to eat displayed in the shop-windows. 

She had no purpose in being abroad, but it happened 
that wide London was the only home she owned just then. 
The Megatherium engagement had long ago come to an 
end, and no reward had followed it, nor had any other open- 
ing presented itself. She owned the clothes she stood in, 
and nothing more. Landladies have to live, like other 
people, and non-paying tenants admit the necessity for their 
own eviction, except in Ireland. To have been well-fed 
and well-dressed, and in a way courted and admired, made 
this destitution and despair the bitterer. There was one 
man whom she had to thank for it all, and he was the only 
creature who had ever given her a thought of purity since 
she been a little child, though the purity awoke somehow 
in her own heart, the gift of her own awakened nature, 
and not his gift at all. There was a way out of hunger 
even now, and if she had never seen Mark Carroll she 
would have taken it. People talk of virtue as if it were a 
fixed quantity; and that, of course, is sad nonsense. This 
young woman had been reared in a moral slum, and the 
surroundings into which she was born looked natural to 
her. Yet when a door opened and she beheld a room 
swept and garnished, she had native virtue enough to like 
the look of it and to long to dwell there. The pictures 
which garnished that figurative apartment might not be to 
your taste or to mine, but then you are a connoisseur in 
virtue, and your trained eye would detect the false color 
and the bad drawing, whilst hers looked with worship on 
the artistic daub. It was Mark Carroll who had seemed to 
open that door for her, and what she had to give she gave 
him in reward. It was certainly he who had tried to throw 
her back into the natal slum, and certainly he who had 


hearts: QUEEIS-, Ki^-AYE, AND DEUCE. 173 

shut the door in her face, and in proportion as she could 
have loved him she hated him. The pangs of hunger, the 
averted glances of women, and the garments drawn aside, 
were all added to Mark CarrolTs score, and she was help- 
less to repay him. Bitter hunger, bitter hate, scorn, de- 
spair, self-pity — the signora^s shabby plush mantle covered 
them all, and her black eyes sometimes failed to cover one 
or two of them. 

To be miserable and homeless and unemployed leads — 
amongst other things — to a singular interest in trifles, and 
the signora stopped to regard countless objects she had 
never before cared to look at. With other matters of equal 
importance to her she looked curiously at the theatrical 
bills in the windows of Strand public-houses, or at the 
doors of the theaters themselves. Her knowledge of En- 
glish was by this time considerable, and she could read 
with some approach to comfort. One announcement 
(which attracted her attention neither more nor .less than 
a dozen others she had seen already and had stood to read) 
set forth that the magnificently successful English opera 
^^Godiva^^ would be repeated until further notice. ^ A 
smaller bill beside it ran thus — Garrick Theater. Sole 
Lessee and Manager, Mr. Bethesda. ‘ Godiva,^ written and 
composed by Thomas Carroll, Esq. 

She read no further, but stood and stared at the name. 
That was the man of whose kindness and generosity Baretti 
had spoken to Tito, and he was the stupid innocent whom 
Mark had brought to Titovs chambers on his last visit there. 
There were not likely to be two Thomas Carrolls who were 
composers, and she had heard the one she knew of play 
superbly, and had heard all about him from Baretti. It 
was perfectly clear that this was Markus cousin, and his 
printed name hit her almost as Markus own would have 
done. 

Whilst she stood looking at the placard somebody touched 
her in i^assing, and she on turning round saw Tom Car- 
roll with his hat raised in apology. The placard was at 
the main entrance of the theater. 

She saw that at first sight he did not recognize her, but 
she called up as much of a smile as she could, and held 
out her hand. 

Good-day, Mistare Carroll. 

Tom was chivalrous and, in some ways, weak-hearted. 


174 HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE.. 

He could not resist the proffered hand, though he took it 
reluctantly. Some men might have thought the woman^s 
recognition insolent, but he was not amongst them. 

Can you speak a word to me?^^ she asked, holding his 
hand. 

Two or three people in the street turned to look at them. 
The painted woman, with her gorgeous finery all faded and 
dirty and threadbare, holding the young swelFs hand in 
broad daylight, and looking at him with appealing eyes — 
the young swell shame-faced at the recognition — the story 
was plain to anybody who saw the picture. 

Come inside, said Tom, waving his free hand toward 
the entrance of the theater. 

Fashionable people do occasionally walk eastward along 
the Strand, and Lording, who made no pretense of being 
fashionable, passed on the other side at that moment. He 
naturally looked over at the theater at which Tonies opera 
was running, and he saw in the door-way what was to be 
seen. It looked for all the world as if Tom had been 
seized by the woman, and were drawing her in -doors to es- 
cape observation. Lording walked on and tried to think 
no more about it, but it rankled in his mind. 

What can I do for you?^^ Tom asked the signora,, 
when they were once behind the swinging-doors. 

She had scarcely meant to appeal to him at all, but her 
own case was desperate, and perhaps he could give her a 
chance. 

I have lost my latest place, she answered. I have 
nothing to do three months. I am quite poor. Will you 
let me sing in your opera to earn a little money.^ You 
have hear me sing.^^ 

I am sorry,'’ ^ Tom began, and he saw that the wom- 
an's face fell wofully. The eager, beseeching light faded 
from her eyes, and the young man had already noticed how 
fallen away from her old state she was. I^m afraid 
there ^s no vacancy.'’^ He was losing money every day, and 
drawing nearer and nearer to the great gulf of poverty. 
The opera was running at a heavy loss, though to the un- 
initiated it looked like a success; and it was only being al- 
lowed to run at all lest its immediate withdrawal should 
blight his future chances with a managerial world. He 
could ill afford to offer an asylum to anybody just now, and 
he disliked this woman and had a prejudice against her, a 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 175 

prejudice sufficiently justifiable and reasonable. I am 
sorry, he said again. 

Now the signora had never had to stoop to sue before. 
Only that very morning her landlady had refused longer to 
harbor her, and in her pride and anger she had disdained 
to plead for a day^s reprieve. There is something in the 
confession of suffering which seems to render it for the 
moment less bearable, and her own words, I am quite 
poor,""^ hieant so much for her, and touched her with such 
a spasm of pity for herself, that at this refusal she began to 
cry. 

If I can help you in any other way,""^ said Tom, draw- 
ing out that too ready purse of his. 

No, no, no,^^ she cried, waving her hand against it. 

I will work if I can.^"' Her English carried her no fur- 
ther. Her emotion tied her tongue. 

Come this way,^^ said the yielding composer. Ifil 
see if we can find room for you.^^ She followed him, dry- 
ing her eyes and striving to subdue herself to quiet. She 
despised herself for yielding so, and rebelled against the 
fortune which had driven her to this appeal. But she was 
starving, and that for a healthy woman is not a slight thing, 
and she had a reason for keeping alive as long as she could. 
Her physical hunger for food was not much stronger than 
the hunger her heart felt for revenge. How the revenge 
was ever to come about she could not guess, but if she 
could compass it, she would have it, by hook or crook, and 
at whatever sacrifice. 

Wait here, if you please, said Tom, offering her a 
chair in a room opening off the auditorium. She took a 
seat and composed herself, and then, sighting a looking- 
glass, went to it and arranged her tawdry ribbon to the 
best advantage, and wiped the smeary paint from her eye- 
lids as well as she could. 

Can we make room for another soprano, Bethesda?^^ 
he began. I know wedon^t want one, but another won^'t 
matter much.^^ 

That is for your own consideration, sir,^^ replied Be- 
thesda. The expenses are already heavy. 

I know,^^ said Tom, taking off his hat to rub his hair, 
and staring at Beth^sda with a vexed countenance, I 
know. But this is a woman who — hang it all! We can 
make room, I suppose?^ ^ 


170 hearts: queex^ kjs'ave, ahd deuce. 

Certainly, sir, certainly, if you wish it,^"" said the man- 
ager. He knew nothing of Tom^s concerns. When he 
had heard the Moores speak of him it had been in connec- 
tion with that dairy business, and he had been represented 
as a man of wealth and as having^a wealthy father. Mrs. 
Moore ^s views of tlie elder CarrolFs possessions was exag- 
gerated, and Bethesda had caught it. And besides, a poor 
man could scarcely afford such a whim as to take a theater 
for the performance of an opera which no business-like 
manager would look at. Tom^s work was in one respect 
like Shakespeare ^s: the smallest part needed an artist to 
play it, and his stage was full. Business-like managers 
are not fond of pieces in which there are many people to 
play the leading parts. In Tomb’s day one star and a bun- 
dle of sticks did for most of the London houses. 

Well, you^d better see to her,^^ said Tom, I don^t 
want to be bothered with her again. Mr. Bethesda looked 
vaguely sympathetic. She^s in want of money, I know, 
and when you We agreed on the terms youTl better give her 
a fortnights salary in advance, or something of that sort. 

Very good, sir,^'’ returned Mr. Bethesda, and Tom sat 
down whilst the manager went to confer wdth Caterina. 
When Bethesda, returning, announced her engagement 
and departure, he left the house and went about the busi- 
ness her appeal had interrupted. His own extravagances 
began to make him discontented with himself, and he knew 
that he was sinking fast enough without. And yet how 
could he have denied the miserable woman when he saw 
her in tears and all the signs of poverty she bore! Noth- 
ing short of the practical experience of a relieving officer 
could have hardened his heart or closed his hand whilst 
there was anything to give in it. Yet his charities began 
to worry him, as little sins worry a tender conscience, and 
there were moments when the financial outlook was almost 
desperate. 

He was not going quite madly with his opera, and he 
and Baretti had talked over the question of its continuance 
pretty thoroughly. His plan was to run it as long as he^ 
dared, and in the meanwhile to set to work at a second, 
which upon completion should be produced on another 
lessee^s responsibility. All the critics were in his favor, 
and after this success of his, he would be treated with more 
consideration than he had been. He was a good deal 


hearts: queeh^ khave, a^s^d deuce. 177 

mixed with theatrical people now^, and everybody was ex- 
tremely amiable with him. Men who knew about stage 
atfairs were cognizant of his real position at the Garrick^ 
though he never guessed it, and amongst them were some 
who were willing to pick up a few of the crumbs that fell 
from the rich man^s table. Not a few envied Bethesda^ 
and that good man spoke of his patron as a sort of Croesus. 
A moneyed amateur is likely to be popular in theatrical 
circles, and Tonies amiability, his goodness of heart, his 
ready sympathy and open hand, made him more than a 
common favorite. When he remembered how friendly 
everybody was in his new world, he forgot the rapid wast- 
ing of his little fortune, and with everybody^'s good word 
secured beforehand his future triumphs looked certain. 
Cousin Mark would have known better, for a man who en- 
counters every other man as a pretender will be right some- 
times. 

Talking of Cousin Mark — the new heir to Trench House 
found Trench House a little dull, and the keenest sense of 
humor in the world, backed by the most relishing sense of 
triumph, could not stave off a feeling of occasional weari- 
ness in the society of Mr. Carroll. It was a great relief to 
Mark, therefore, when his uncle one day suggested that a 
week or two in town might be- a change for him. He 
threw a certain graceful air of reluctance into the little 
speech in which he accepted the holiday, and he executed 
a dance in the privacy of his bed-chamber at the prospect 
of liberty. There was certain legal business to be done in 
town, and Markus professional knowledge would be useful 
in it, so thought Mr. Carroll. Mark fancied he could trust 
his professional knowledge to drag out the proposed fort- 
night into a month, and he set out in subdued high spirits. 
From the first day of his adoption of this admirable 
nephew, Mr. Carroll had bestowed an allowance upon him, 
and until now Mark had had no chance to spend a penny. 
As a consequence he was better provided than he had ever 
been in his life before, and since he had been really hard- 
up in his time, the possession of money afforded him a joy 
which is out of the reach of a man who has never felt pov- 
erty. Mark had given up his chambers, and the meager 
furniture had been sold at a valuation, so that now he went 
to a Jermyn Street hotel and bestowed himself comfortably. 
The London papers appeared daily on Mr. CarrolFs break- 


178 hearts: queeh, knave, and defce. 

fast table, and Mark knew all about Tom^s opera and its 
success. He had seen the advertisements, and read the 
criticisms, and he had little doubt that his uncle had done 
the same, though Tom^s name was never mentioned between 
them. Mark had no objection to his cousin^s well-doing so 
long as it did not interfere with his own, and, as a matter 
'of fact, the more Tom thrived the less likely was his father 
to be stirred by any sentiment of pity, and the less likely 
was Tom to be a tax upon his cousin. 

I never cared much for opera, said Mark to himself. 
Hut the papers say that the ballet is a good thing. ITl 
go and have a look at it.^^ 

So a night or two after his arrival in town Mark made 
one of a fairly filled house to hear Godiva. For a 
wonder he was in time for the opening chorus, and there in 
the center of the stage semicircle was the Signora Caterina. 
Mr. Bethesda had not been slow to observe the young 
woman^s personal advantages, and her place was prominent. 
It was undeniable that she helped the stage picture, whilst 
as a chorus singer she was useful. 

‘‘ Tom,^^ said Mark, inwardly, you are indiscreet. 
You make that Christian duty of mine almost too easy."^^ 
Mark seemed pretty safe in the saddle by this time, but 
he thought the girths might bear a little tightening. 

He cared little for the opera, and fell to reading the bill 
of the play. 

Eh?^^ he thought suddenly. Bethesda? Mr. An- 
thony Bethesda? How many Anthony Bethesdas are there 
in the world? Not many, I should say. ^ Sole Lessee and 
Manager, Mr. Anthony Bethesda. Curious.'’^ 

The ballet came on just then — a quaint old English mor- 
ris-dance, not at all to the young man^s taste. He pre- 
ferred the can- can, though even that had lost its novelty; 
and after watching the figures on the stage for an uninter- 
ested five minutes he took his overcoat from the attendant 
and strolled into the vestibule of the house. 

Bethesda, he was thinking still. Hot at all a com- 
mon name. The man himself. Mr. Bethesda in person 
in the vestibule. I should know that Christian smile 
amongst a thousand. How d’ye do, Bethesda?’^ 

How do you do, sir?’’ said Mr. Bethesda, with a some- 
what blank expression. 

How’s the little business over the water, Bethesda?” 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 179 

asked Mark, jauntity. And the brethren? How are the 
brethren?^^ 

For God^s sake — said Bethesda in a whisper, Mark 
laughed. 

All right, he said, lightly. Where can we go and 
be quiet for a minute or two? I want to speak to you.^^ 

Come into my room, sir,^^ said Mr. Bethesda, and 
Mark followed his lead. 

What brings you here, old man?^^ he asked, familiarly. 
Mr. Bethesda had taken the precaution to lock the dooiv 
and he looked frightened as he faced his visitor. Made 
your pile, eh? Is the new dodge paying?^^ 

Well, I canH say it is, sir,^^ returned Bethesda, whose 
plump and roseate countenance looked almost meager on a 
sudden. I^m as poor as Job, I am indeed. I am only a 
salaried servant here. 

Mark had taken a seat upon the table, and there dangled 
his legs at ease, looking at the manager with a waggish 
eye of mastery. At this declaration he stretched out his 
walking-cane and tapped a line in the playbill on the door. 

* Sole lessee, Bethesda, Sole lessee. There it is in black 
and white. 

‘‘ A mere form, sir, I assure you. Fm as poor as Job. 
I have nothing but my salary to depend upon. 

PoohP^ said Mark. I have inherited a large fort- 
une, Bethesda, and I donT want to blackmail you any 
more. Come, you can trust me. If the house isn^'t yours, 
whose is it?^^ 

It is taken in my name, sir, but as a matter of fact, 
iPs rented by a person by the name of Carroll, who took it 
to bring out his own opera. 

A person of the name of Carroll, eh?^^ said Mark, 
smilingly. He seems to have mounted it pretty well. 
Cost a fairish penny, didn’t it, Bethesda?” 

It is very richly mounted,” said Mr. Bethesda, who 
seemed ill at ease. 

Is it paying?” 

‘‘ No,” said the manager, shaking his head mournfully. 

Losing. At least a hundred and fifty pounds a week.” 

Bad for the person of the name of CarroU, eh?” asked 
Mark. 

“ Wealthy men have whims, sir,” returned Bethesda. 

He can afford it. ” 


180 


hearts: QUEEIS", KHAVE^ AHD DEUCE. 


Ah/^ said Mark, who wore throughout this interview 
a curious air of enjoyment, which contrasted strongly with 
the other^s evident discomfort. That makes a dift'er- 
ence, doesnH it? And how is the little business over the 
water ^ 

Gone to pieces, said Bethesda mournfully. The 
biggest coup I ever went for was the last, and it smashed 
me. It was beautifully done, beautifully, and somebody 
must have turned informer. There were seven boilers, 
sinking his voice to a whisper, and looking round, as if he 
feared another listener, seven boilers laid on the quay for 
five or six weeks for everybody to get used to the look of 
them. Then they were got aboard and sent down for re- 
pair. "" ^ 

Sent down? said Mark. Sent down where ?^^ 

Down North generally,^-^ returned Bethesda, with a 
feeble smile. The departure was admirably timed, sir, 
and the boilers were landed at Cardiff, made over to a safe 
hand there. They nailed him, however, and it burst both 
of us. I knew I could rely upon him, and he was honor- 
able to the end. Five years is a light sentence, of course, 
but some men would have turned Queen'^s Evidence. 

What was it?^'’ said Mark, smilingly. 

Mr. Bethesda went through a little pantomime express- 
ive of smoking a cigar, and blew an imaginary whiff. 

The best havanas to be had for love or money. The 
low trade never paid. 

I suppose not. And that burst you, did it?^^ 

Like a bubble, sir/'’ returned Mr. Bethesda. I sup- 
pose that altogether I wasnT .less than five thousand 
pounds out of pocket by it. But the problem of long in- 
terest and short risk has never been satisfactorily solved, 
and never will be. If you could rely upon everybody's 
honesty now!^^ 

It^s a pity you canT do that, Bethesda, isiiT it?^^ said 
Mark, smilingly. And so the person hj the name of 
Carroll is losing a hundred and fifty pounds a week, is he? 
By the way, Bethesda, who^s that handsome foreign-look- 
ing woman in the chorus ?^^ 

Signora Caterina, sir?^^ asked Bethesda, with a look 
of relief. Is that the lady you mean?'’^ 

‘ ‘ She stands back in the center of the stage in the first 
chorus. I thought her rather handsome. Who is she?^^ 


hearts: queeH;, khate, a]S'd deuce. 181 

That is Signora Oaterina/^ said Mr. Betliesda. Mr. 
Carroll introduced her here, sir. I don^t know anything 
about her. 

A private affair of Mr. CarrolTs perhaps?'’^ asked 
Mark. 

Well, no, sir, I donT think so. It may have been in 
the past, but it isnH now, Fm certain. No. That isn^t 
his line, I should say, sir. I confess that at first I thought 
it might be, for he asked me to get the prettiest girls I 
could, but he^s never so much as looked at one of them. 

How did he come to bring the lady here?^^ 

I haven^t a notion, really,^ ^ replied Bethesda. She 
was awfully shabby — awfully shabby, when she came. He 
gave her a fortnight's wages in advance. 

Mark nodded smilingly, and looked as if about to put 
another question, when a knock came to the door, and a 
second later the handle was tried. Bethesda ran to the 
door and unlocked it. 

“ Hillo!^^ cried Tom Carroll, entering, and looking with 
amazement from one to the other, Why, Mark, what 
brings you here?^^ 

I ran up to town to see you,^^ said Mark, with perfect 
self-possession. I met Bethesda in the vestibule, and he 
and I have been having a little talk together. We are old 
acquaintances. Bethesda is the only client I ever had.^^ 

And how are you?^^ cried Tom, shaking hands 
heartily. It may seem singular, but he had no malice for 
Mark. Such a supposition would have seemed singular 
indeed to Mark himself. He had thought the matter over 
pretty often, and he admitted that if their fortunes had been 
reversed, he would have poisoned Tom if that could have 
been managed safely. Anybody would, said Mark. It 
came natural. 

He answered Tom^s salute with perfect responsiveness. 

YouM better see to that latch, by the way, Bethesda, 
said he, with a laugh. If Mr. Carroll had caught you 
locked in with one of those pretty girls you have here, he 
wouldnT believe youM done it because the latch wouldn^t 
act, and you only wanted to keep the wind out. 

What^s the matter with the latch?^’ asked Tom, try- 
ing the handle of the door. It^s all right now.^^ 

It wasn^t a minute ago,^^ said Mark, easily. 

Who would have thought of your knowing Bethesda!'’^ 


182 HEAKTS: KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

said Tom, brightly. What a little world it is, after alU 
Why, Bethesda, it was only yesterday that you told me you 
had never met anybody of the name of Carroll, and you 
and my cousin Mark are closeted here like old chums. 

Mr. Bethesda gave an odd little look at Mark Carroll. 

I had forgotten the gentleman, sir,^^ he answered,, 
until he did me the honor of reminding me of our old 
connection this evening, sir.^^ 

Come and have a talk, Tom,^^ said Mark, thrusting 
an arm through his cousin^ s. Good night, Bethesda. 

‘‘ Good night, sir,^^ said Bethesda, and stood staring at 
the door-way through which the two had passed. He^s a 
beautiful liar,^^he said a minute later, as he closed the 
door. Very ready and natural. Carroll? Mark Car- 
roll? Now what did he want an alias for?^^ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Tom felt, as he and his cousin walked together after leav- 
ing the theater, that Markus manner had never seemed half 
so agreeable or befitting. He did not think this, but he 
felt it warmly. There was no shyness about Mark, as. 
there would have been about some men in the circum- 
stances, and there was no pretense of there being nothing 
the nmtter. 

‘‘ Tom,^^ said Mark, I want to have a serious talk with 
you. I want to ask you to answer one question I shall put 
to you. 

I will if I can,^^ said Tom, not guessing what the 
question might be. 

Then,^^ began Mark, stopping short in the street and 
facing his cousin with a serious brow, is there anything* 
between yourself and your father which is not known to 
me? Anything more than that row at the Megatherium?^^ 

‘‘ Nothing that I know of/^ Tom answered. Why?^^ 

I am obliged to move slowly,^ ^ said Mark, taking his 
cousin ^s arm again, and walking with thoughtful eyes upon 
the pavement. I dare not appeal to him too often, but 
I want to see you reconciled, and I mention you when I 
dare. But lately he has dropped a hint or two of your 
having offended him in other ways. 

‘‘ In what other ways?^^ asked Tom, a little angrily.^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 183 

Well, you see,-"^ said Mark, musingly, he doesn^t 
speak straight out, and I don^t want to make him angry 
by questioning; but so far as I can gather, he has a notion 
that youVe been living in rather an immoral way up here.'’^ 
^^Who?^^ cried Tom, coming to a standstill. I? 
How?^^ 

My dear fellow,^^ said Mark, in a propitiatory way, 
don^t fly out at me. I am only trying to get at the bot- 
tom of the thing. Don^’t be offended if I go on. Has 
there ever been or is there now any entanglement between 
you and — ? Come, Tom, I^m not a Joseph myself, and I 
never professed to be. Is there a lady in the case at all, 
or has there been?^^ 

You might have answered any charge of that sort,^^ 
returned Tom, out of your knowledge of me. 

If there is such a charge, there is no truth in it?^^ 

Not an atom,^^ said Tom, quietly enough. 

Have you made an enemy asked Mark. Is there 
anybody with a grudge against you?'’^ 

Not a soul I know of."^ 

Tom,^’ said Mark, suddenly, after a pause, don^t 
you think you ought to write to the governor and make 
«ome approach to him? Don^t answer yet. Don^t you 
think you might make allowance for him, and even humil- 
iate yourself a little for his sake?^^ 

Mark,^^ said Tom, in answer, in a voice which showed 
Low moved he was, if my father had been a poor man I 
would have gone to him next day, and would have told 
him that I had not done well in risking his peace of mind 
to save Miss Moore an inconvenience. But he is a rich 
man, Mark, and he was as much in the wrong as I was. If 
he had not refused to believe me, I would have proved my 
■case, since he demanded it. He had a right to demand it, 
but he had no right to think me a liar. That is a right I 
uever yet gave to any man.^^ 

Without an advance from you/^ said Mark, a recon- 
ciliation does not look hopeful. He is beginning to think 
all manner of evil things about you.'^^ 

It^s a great pity,^^ said Tom, with a sigh, but it can^t 
be helped. He thought of the difference the last few 
months had made in his position and prospects, and his 
heart sunk at it; but there came the natural revulsion of 
defiance, and this extended itself to his father. He must 


184 HEAKTS: QUEE]Sr^ KKAVE, Aiq^D PEUCE. 

(loAvhat he will and think what he will. I must fight my 
own way in the world. I should be happy in his good opin- 
ion^ but, much as I value it, I prefer my own, and I will 
not lose that at least. 

Mark sighed audibly. 

TheiVs a pair of you,^^ he said. Irreconcilables 
both.^^ To this his cousin returned no answer, and they 
walked on quietly for a hundred yards or so. ‘‘ Tom/^ 
began Mark again, I give you my word of honor that I 
feel my own position keenly. Perhaps I am a bit coward-^ 
ly about myself for one thing. You know how helpless I 
am in the world. I^m like a child. I never earned a 
penny in my life. 

You had a client once,^^ said Tom. 

Yes,^"" said Mark, fortunately recalling his statement 
about Bethesda. I earned a ten-pound note once, but it 
came to the same thing — I never got it. I am dependent 
on your father, and since my own governor died I always 
have been. Well, you know, you and I have both looked 
forward to his doing something for me finally, and now 
he^s in such a mood that if I pushed your case too far he^d 
send me packing after you, and found a hospital. Now 
that would be good neither for me nor you, and it wouldn't 
be comfortable for him. And all the time I am in a false 
position. I am ill thought of in many quarters where I 
would rather stand well, because people say what a cold- 
blooded thing it is for a fellow to accept a position which 
holds father and son apart. They don^t know what I am 
trying to do, and would hardly believe me if I told them. 
Now canT you make me your mediator? CanT I say we 
met, and that you spoke kindly of him and all that sort of 
thing, and expressed your sorrow for having troubled 
him?^^ 

I can do nothing, and say nothing, that does not lay 
me open to Suspicion/^ answered Tom. ‘‘ You may tell 
him what 1 have said already, if you like. Does he seem 
to feel the thing much, Mark?^^ 

He doesnT show a great deal,^^ Mark answered, but 
then you know his way.""^ 

Yes, Tom admitted that he knew his father^s way. The. 
future was beginning to look blank to Tom ; his money 
failure in connection with the opera tormented him, and 
his ideas seemed to have run dry, so he made no progress^ 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ K^STAYE, AKD DEUCE. 185 

to speak of, with opera number two. His troubles Y^ere 
closing fast upon him, and all the lesser troubles he endured 
drove him toward one much greater. His love-alfair looked 
especially hopeless, and that was the one thing he could 
least endure not to hope about. It seemed as if to take 
his hope of that were to take all, and the more he thought 
of it the less possible it seemed to marry and become a pen- 
sioner on Lording^s bounty. It is probable enough that, 
like many other people, he made most of his own troubles 
for himself, but home-made troubles are no mofe savory 
than those of foreign manufacture, and the lad^s mild 
gorge rose at them. 

ssij/’ quoth Mark, rather suddenly, is that your 
own speculation, Tom — that theater?^ ^ 

Yes,^^ said Tom, with no great sprightliness of tone. 

Is it paying?^^ 

Losing fast.^^ 

Shall you drop it?^^ 

I dare not — at least not just yet. 

It seems to me, Tori;^, that unless your governor relents 
you are in a bad way. 

A very bad way indeed, Mark; but not so bad a way 
that it may not be mended. 

You must let me say something to your father. Give 
me a message to him.^^ 

Ho. You are a good fellow, Mark, but that atfair 
must take its course. I can^t beg for a right as a favor. 
I didn^t deserve to be thrown over, and I can^t ask to be 
taken back again. 

This talk brought them to Tonies door. Mark declined 
to enter just then. 

Think it over, Tom. Vyq said what I wanted to say. 
Think it over. 1^11 call to-morrow at midday, if th^Yull 
suit you. Good -night, old man."^^ 

He wrung Tom^s hand hard and Y^alked away hurriedly. 

He’s a good fellow, is Mark,” said Tom to himself, 
standing on the door-step and looking after his cousin’s 
retreating figure. A good fellow.” . 

An odd thing,” said Mark, falling into a saunter as 
lie turned the corner into that street in which he had first 
met the charming signora. A curious thing how being 
in the fashion makes One fond of the fashion. Since I took 
to having respectable motives it is wonderful to notice what 


186 


hearts: QUEE2s% k^staye, akd deuce. 


a hold they have taken on me. I shall end in believing' 
myself like the rest of them. Weh’e poor creatures — att 
frail alike/ ^ concluded Mark, with a laugh to himself. 

All frail alike.^^ 

As he walked down the street thinking, he passed a sol- 
itary passenger, who looked keenly at him and quickened 
his step a little as if to keep pace with him for a moment 
and make sure of him. This solitary passenger was Signor 
Malfi. 

You are still in London, my friend, said the signor 
silently, when he was sure of him. Let me see where 
you live. ^ ^ 

He followed, but not for any great distance, for at the 
end of the street a voice he knew hailed Mark Carroll by 
name, and the signor crossed the street in the darkness to 
avoid his countryman, Baretti. 

You are back in London said Baretti. Have you 
seen your cousin 

I have just left him,^^ returned Mark. You have 
some influence with him. Beg !ym to follow my advice. 
It is the only way to a reconciliation with his father. 

What is your ad vice asked Baretti. 

That he should seek the reconciliation,^^ returned 
Mark. That he should make the first advances. 

Do you think the advances likely to be accepted 
•asked Baretti. 

I think it well worth while to try. I\e told Tom so^ 
but he^s pig-headed.''^ 

I am anxious to serve him if I can,^^ said the painter. 

Shall I walk with you whilst you tell me what to do?^^ 

Mark accepted this offer, and the two went on together 
arm-in-arm. Signor Malfi, who had been standing in the 
darkness fifty yards further down the street, walked lei- 
surely until they passed him, and then followed. 

‘‘You have met my uncle and have seen enough of him 
to know how unlikely it is that any advance should .come 
from him. He is a man of prodigious firmness — not to say 
obstinacy — but one of the kindest-hearted men in the 
world. Tom must pocket his pride and make submission.''^ 
Baretti nodded here and there as Mark talked and the dis- 
interested cousin grew warm with his theme. 

“ Take no notice of the thing iiow,^^ said Baretti, break- 


HEARTS.: KISTAYE, AIs'D DEUCE. 187 

ing in on the current of Markus speech. But do you 
know why you are being followed 

Followed?'’^ asked Mark, quietly. Whafc do you 
mean? Why should I be followed 

There is a friend of mine behind us,^^ said the paint- 
er, who has a grievance against you. He was behind 
you when I met you, but fliinking that I did not see him, 
he crossed the road and waited. Now he is coming on 
^gain.^^ 

A friend of yours who has a grudge against me 
asked Mark. And who may that be?^^ 

Count twenty paces beyond the next; lamp,^^ said Ba- 
re tti. Then turn and you will have him in the light. 

So said, so done. Mark knew well enough of whom Ba- 
retti spoke, and was not surprised at being followed, 
though the sensation he experienced was far from being 
comfortable. He and Baretti wheeled round suddenly at 
the point agreed upon, and Signor Malfi came to a dead 
stop for a second or so, and then walked on toward them. 
Mark stood on the alert, waiting for what might happen. 
He had not long to wait, for Malfi cut right at his face 
with the walking-cane he carried. Mark warded flie blow 
with his own cane, but before he could return it, Baretti 
had got in between them, and for a minute or two the 
painter and the singer made a great hubbub with expostu- 
lation on the one side and execration on the other. Mark 
kept quiet and watched, cool and wary. To have a quarrel 
with Signor Malfi would not suit him at all, for he was se- 
verely moral at Trench House, and enjoyed a reputa- 
tion for another and more genial sort of morality — un- 
starched, but unsmirched — in its neighborhood; and the 
revelations which might come of a fracas with the popular 
tenor would militate against his reputation. On the other 
side, Malfi cared little for the prospect of a bout at fisti- 
cuffs, and repented his flush of passion already. So with 
both unwilling to fight, the promised battle was postponed, 
but the assailant cursed from behind Baretti with Italian 
fluency, and let out all the story. This was, of course, un- 
pleasant for Mark, who had tried to make something of a 
caFs-paw of his cousin in this matter, and who knew that 
the story would go from Baretti to Tom. Even such a 
fool as Tom might scarcely like to have been used as a 


188 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ Kl^^AVE^ AND DEUCE. 


blind in such an affair, and for the present it was part of 
Markus plan that Tom should think well of him. 

I have no appetite for a street-brawl/^ said Mark, in 
English, and the man is mad with an absolutely ground- 
less jealousy. 

What does he say?^^ cried Malfi^ with an energetic 
pretense of a desire to get past Baretti. Baretti, still keep- 
ing between him and Mark, translated, and the singer 
broke out with a new tirade. One foot-passenger paused 
long enough ^o hear all three speaking Italian, and, being 
in his own way a humorist, cried, Go it, Frenchy!^"' in 
a highly exhilarated way. 

‘‘We shall have a crowd here in a moment, said Mark, 
in an under-tone, to Baretti. “ I shall walk on until I 
meet a policeman, and if your friend follows me I shall 
give him in charge. 

So saying, he turned his back upon the two, and marched 
along, indifferent enough to outer seeming, but carrying 
his heart in his ears. 

“You call yourself my friend, said Malfi, hotly, “ and 
you consort with that dog. ^ 

“ I consort with that dog for a purpose,''^ said Baretti, 
“ and I still call myself your friend. I must not lose him 
now. Let me follow him. Come to me to-morrow. What 
can you gain by a disturbance in the streets? I may help 
you to right your wrong in a way you do not dream of. 
Come to me to-morrow. 

Malfi made no answer, but he allowed Baretti to follow 
Mark, and only stood to watch the two retreating figures 
until the night swallowed both of them. Then he shook 
his stick in the air, spat on the pavement, and went his 
way. The painter came up with Mark at a run, and Mark, 
having assured himself that it was Baretti, and not Malfi, 
who pursued him, sauntered slowly to be the more readily 
overtaken. 

“ Thank you,^^ he said, when Baretti came alongside, 
“ I am very much obliged. About Tom, Signor Baretti; 
will you iry and persuade him to make some approaches to 
his father?^ ^ 

“ I will advise him for the best,^^ said Baretti. “ It is 
a pity that so excellent a son and so kind a father should 
be divorced from each other. 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 189 

IsnH it?^^ said Mark, with an assent almost tender in 
its fervor. 

It is a pity, too,^"" observed Baretti, that my poor 
friend Malfi should be divided from his wife by so ground- 
less a suspicion. So far as you are concerned she is inno- 
cent?^^ 

The man^s a madman, pure and simple, said Mark^ 
tranquilly, I think the woman took a fancy to me, but 
that wasnT my fault. Ask my cousin Tom. HeTl tell 
you that I asked him to sit out an English lesson I was 
giving her, to prevent her from making eyes at me. It 
was not easy to suspect so perfect a tactician. 

This is not the first I have heard of it,^"" said Baretti,. 
who also knew how to be candid. Malfi told me the 
whole story. He said then what he repeated to-night, that 
he had tracked her to your chambers.'’^ 

She was fool enough to come there, Mark returned* 
That was^ not my affair either. Whilst she was there 
Malfi turned up, and I hid her. When he had gone away, 
I told her I couldnT stand that sort of nonsense, and that, 
if it occurred again, I should have to take unpleasant 
measures. You read the English poets, Mr. Baretti, and 
you remember the line ‘ Hell has no fury like a woman 
scorned.'' The beautiful Signora Malfi is the best illustra- 
tion of that statement I have yet encountered. I^m not a 
Joseph myself,"^ said Mark, for the second time that day, 
but in this case I^m a martyr."^ 

Markus candor was his best weapon, but he could not 
quite kill Baretti^s doubts of him. 

You disliked the woman the painter asked. That 
is why you wished your cousin to go with you when you 
gave her the lesson you speak of?^^ 

Well, not exactly that,^^ said Mark, with a light-heart- 
ed laugh. But the game didiiT seem worth the candle, 
and besides that, Malfi was a friend in a sort of a way, and 
there is honor, you know, even amongst gentlemen. 

Baretti walked thoughtfully on and said nothing. The 
man made no pretense to be better than he was, and his. 
easy cynicism made him ten times more readily believable 
than any moral profession could have done. And yet Ba- 
retti was not easy in his mind about him, and to doubt him 
at one point was to doubt him at all. Half unconsciously 
he did doubt him at all points, and he began to have vague 


190 


hearts: QUEE^r, Ki^AVE, AND DEUCE. 


ideas that it was here if ever that his chance of being use- 
ful to Tom Carroll would arise. As if there were not real 
dragons enough about his friend^ s path already, he was in 
the mood to create fancy dragons for the pleasure of kill- 
ing them, and circumstances had given Mark so much in- 
fluence over his cousin^ s life that Baretti was nine-tenths 
jealous of him. Now that he had come to think of it, he 
had never heartily liked Mark Carroll from the first, and a 
spice of that discontent which Mark confessed would have 
been natural in Tom, began to fiavor Baretti^ s fancies. 
"What guarantee in the world was there that Mark should 
play fair with Tom? And what would the world think 
fairer play, than to let things take their course? But if 
Mark allowed events to run on unguided, it was likely that 
he, and not Tom, would inherit the Trench House estates. 
It began to be unbelievable, as Baretti considered these 
things, that any man would take the trouble to shake his 
own standing-ground unless he had a very skong reason 
for it — some passion of honor, or gratitude, or love. Now, 
not to be unduly suspicious, it did not seem likely that 
Mark Carroll was a man to nurse so fine a sense of honor 
as his present pretensions claimed for him, and, so far as 
the painter knew, he had no great call either to love or to 
gratitude. 

Baretti had spoken all these half -proved fancies about 
Mark in his last words to Malfi, when he had said that he 
might help to right his countryman ^s wrongs in a way the 
other did not dream of. If Mark were pretending to serve 
Tom^s interest while he played against him, there were not 
many revenges to which Baretti would not have thought it 
dignified to stoop. 

‘‘ You are naturally anxious about your cousin,^^ he 
said at last, and I am naturally anxious about my coun- 
tryman. Whilst you try to reconcile father and son, I 
must try to reconcile husband and wife. Do you know 
that the lady is singing in your cousin^ s opera?^"^ 

‘‘ Yes,^^ said Mark, since there was nothing to be got by 
ignorance. I saw her there this evening. 

Did you speak to her?^^ 

No. I only saw her on the stage. Why the deuce 
should I speak to her?^^ 

‘‘ People are very stupid,^^ said Baretti, leaving Mark-^s 
query unanswered. They guarrel without cause, and 


hearts: queeh, khave, akd heiige. 


1^1 


they give themselves and their friends a great deal of need- 
less trouble. I will speak to your cousin, Mr. Carroll, and 
I will do my best for him. Good-night. 

Good-night, said Mark, in a voice which responded 
sympathetically to the weariness of Baretti^s. ‘‘ It^s a 
poor world, Mr. Baretti, and one^s best resource is not ta 
care for it very much. He gripped the Italian's hand,, 
said ‘‘ Good -night again, and walked toward his hotek 
That unexpected disturbance with Malfi had been got out 
of well enough, and Mark was grateful to his own good 
fortune. But to have that sort of thing happening at odd 
times would be unpleasant, if at last the coward^s passion 
did not make him dangerous. Mark was certain of Malting 
cowardice, but counted on no immunity from danger on 
that score; for he had had opportunities of studying tho 
dirty side of human nature in the assize courts, and he 
knew of what base metal homicides are made. 

But, apart from fears so tragic — and Mark was no cow- 
ard — to have a man of that sort about, ready at any time 
to knock one^s respectability to pieces, was eminently un- 
desirable, and yet to be rid of him seemed impossible. He 
could be dodged and evaded at times, no doubt, but then 
there was no certainty as to the time or place of his appear- 
ance. 

Markus cogitation on this matter bore fruit. It is notice- 
able that people out of one country neighborhood often use 
the same town hotel, and would think it rather an unfitting^ 
thing to go to any other. It happened that Mark met in 
the Jermyn Street house two county youngsters with whom 
he had acquaintance at Overhill, and in his own bright,, 
open-hearted way he fell talking about his cousin Tom. 
Of course all the count}" knew of the quarrel between father 
and son, and there was no breach of family confidence in 
speaking of it. 

“ He^s as obstinate,^^ said Mark, good-humoredly, a? 
a donkey, and he won^t even ask his governor to cdme 
round. He^s going the pace, too, up here, I can tell you. 
He^s thundering clever fellow, mind you, and you should 
go and hear that opera of his — the music^s magnificent 
But,^^ 'Continued Mark, with the laugh of a man who 
makes allowances, he has kicked over the traces fairly 
now, and everybody who knows his game is a little sorry 
for it. They say Byron kept a harem, but it wasn^t in 


192 hearts: queeh, khaye, and deuce. 

London, and he didnH hire a stage to show his beautiful 
Circassians to the British public. Of course, that sort of 
thing is no man^s business but his own, but I^m very sorry 
for it. Don^t you fellows breathe a word of this down at 
home. You won^t, will you? It would ruin him with the 
old fellow for ever and ever. 

Of course, the young men promised the most profound 
discretion. 

He got me into a bit of a mess a night or two ago,’^ 
said Mark, laughing genially. ‘‘ TheiVs an Italian fellow, 
^ tenor at the opera — Tom^s a good deal mixed up with 
the opera people — and this fellow^s wife took a fancy to 
Tom, and made a dead set at him. She^s singing in 
Godiva ^ now, and has run away from her husband and 
attached herself to my charming cousin^ s fortunes. It^s a 
bit awkward for me, for the operatic tenor had me pointed 
out as the man, and came at me with a thick stick. I 
donT suppose that Tom took any share in that business. 
He wouldnT let another fellow into a scrape of that kind 
knowingly. But if Tom^s wild-oat harvest answers to his 
sowing, I can prophesy a devil of a crop for him. Now, 
for Heaven^s sake, donT you fellows speak a word of this at 
home. I know I can trust your honor, or I wouldnT have 
S23oken. ^ ^ 

They promised faithfully, and went away to trust other 
people’s honor, as Mark knew they would. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Malei did not call upon Baretti on the morrow. Per- 
haps he thought little of his countryman’s promise of venge- 
ance, and perhaps he was somewhat ashamed of his own 
ignominious bluster. But when he did call, the artist bad 
something to say which interested him. Mark Carroll was 
a very clever young man, beyond a doubt, but even he was 
unable to count beforehand upon everything. He had nat- 
nrally counted on the story reaching Lording’s ears in one 
form or another, but he had not counted on the mode of 
Lording’s reception of it. It set the old boy off as a spark 
starts a rocket, and he went at Tom to know the truth or 
falsehood of it, without an hour’s delay. He found him 
in a dressing-gown, with a cigar in his mouth, a glass of 


HEARTS : QUEEK, Kl^AYE, AKD DEUCE. 


193 


'brandy and soda on the table before him, and a disorderly 
litter of musical manuscripts all about the room. Now 
Lording could not tell of his own intuition that Tom had 
been at work all night, and the lad^s worn aspect and the 
brandy and soda taken m conjunction looked bad to the old 
fellow '’s eyes. 

Tom held out his hand, but, to his consternation. Lord- 
ing declined to take it, and set himself firmly upon the 
hearth-rug, with his hat in one hand, and his walking-stick 
in the other. 

Tom Cafroll,^^ said the old boy, I never do anything 
by halves, and I won^t shake hands by halves. I wonT 
condemn you unheard, and you shall have your say fairly 
and fully. Whak’s the meaning of these scandals about 
you and the women at your theater 

What scandals, sir?^^ asked Tom. 

All sorts of scandals, sir,^^ cried Lording. Do you 
mean to say you donT know of them?^^ 

I have never heard of any,^^ Tom returned. 

By gad, sir,^^ said Lording, they say the place is a 
harem, and that youhu the Sultan of it. Orgies! I don^t 
know what all. 

Who says so?^^ asked Tom, beginning to look danger- 
ous. 

IVs a matter of general talk,^^ said Lording. The 
county^ s ringing with it. 

The youngster heaved a great sigh and threw his hands 
abroad. 

So far as I know,^^ he replied, the house is as orderly 
as any in London. I believe it is.^^ 

His momentary anger faded. He was out of spirits, and 
broken with overwork and anxieties and continuous heart- 
ache, and he scarcely cared just then for anything. 

You believe it is?^^ said Lording, half in grief and 
half in rage. I don^t want an answer like that. What 
do you know about this? Come, Tom, my lad, Fve loved 
you like a son, and we stand in such a position that Fve a 
right to ask you. 

The whole thing is a wicked invention,^ ^ Tom 
answered drearily. Though why anybody should go 
about to invent a story of that sort against me, I caiiT 
guess. 

Nor I either,^^ said Lording. 

7 


Tom, you must let 


194 hearts: queeh, khave^ akd deuce. 

me get to the bottom of this. I must be able to contradict 
it^ and I must be able to trace it to its source. ^ ^ 

Will you pursue your inquiries unhampered by me^, 
sir?^^ asked Tom. Will you make inquiries at the 
theater, or cause inquiries to be made? I am a little tired 
of being suspected and lied about and disbelieved. By 
Heaven he cried, suddenly, I would be ashamed to ask 
a man of the truth or falsehood of a lie so palpable if I had 
known him a hundredth part as well as you know me.^^ 

Tom,'’^ said Lording, I am not to blame. I have a. 
duty to perform — and so have you, for that matter. If 
these shameless charges are made against you, you must 
fight them. People are putting two and two together. 
They say your father had fuller reasons for throwing you 
over than were ever given to anybody. 

‘^My father behaved to me, sir,^^ said Tom, bitterly,, 
as no father had a right to behave to a son. All the 
rights are not on the father^ s side, and all the duties on the 
song’s. If people are saying that, it is his business to con- 
tradict it, not mine.^^ 

Yes, yes, Tom,^^ said Lording, your business as well 
as his. You must avoid the appearance of evil.^^ 

‘‘ Into what appearance of evil have I fallen?^^ Tom de- 
manded. 

My lad,^^ said Lording, Who exercised wonderful pa- 
tience, all things considered, you fall into a terrible ap- 
pearance of evil if you refuse to contradict things like 
these. 

‘‘ They will die of themselves,^ ^ said Tom. I shall 
never die of them.'^^ 

Well,^^ said Lording, with something of an effort,. 
youTl tell me on your honor that there isnT one word 
of truth in this scandal, and 1^11 believe you against the 
world. 

Thank you,^^ said Tom. On my honor as a gentle- 
man, there is not one word of truth in it. 

‘‘ VerywelV^ said Lording, ‘‘the libePs done with — 
dead so far as I^m concerned. Now, who invented it? 
Who set it going? Is there anybody who has a grudge 
against you?^^ 

Tom shook his head. “ Not a soul I know of.^^ 

“You made a mistake before in refusing to defend 
yourself, said Lording, who was doing his hardest to be 


HEAETS: QUEElSr, KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 


195 


loyal. You must track this down, Tom. You must 
hunt it down. You must.clear yourself. And until youVe 
done that, Tom — I donH feel happy in* saying it, my lad — 
but until youVe done it, I think youM better not — 

I understand you,^^ said Tom, not without a little bit- 
terness. 

.Don^t think me harsh or unfriendly, Tom,^^ said 
* Lording, taking up the walking-stick and hat which he had 
only just laid down. I can^t help it. I^m very sorry 
indeed, very sorry. 

You have your duty to do, sir,^"" said the .youngster, as 
manfully as he could. 

And you have yours, returned Lording. Track 
the scandal down.-"^ 

In the natural bitterness of his heart, Tom made a re- 
joinder for which he was sorry many a time afterward. 

I have opportunities,^^ he said. My friends give me 
plenty of elbow-room.’’^ 

Tom Carroll, said the old boy, with a paler face, 
you have no right to say that sort of thing to me. I’m 
not the man to charge with giving a friend elbow-room 
when he’s in trouble. I have accepted your word, and I 
believe this thing to be an abominable scandal. But it 
lies on you to clear yourself. All the help I can give you, 
you shall have, but I can’t have a stain brought into the 
house my daughter lives in. Clear yourself. You can do 
it. ” 

How?” asked Tom, with unwonted passion. Where 
am I to bring my charge? Give me the name of the man 
who told you the story.” 

The story’s in the air,” said Lording. It’s at every 
club in London more or less. There’s scarcely a house in 
which it isn’t talked about.” 

And I am to light this impalpable libel? Not I!” he 
cried, in a heat of anger and dispute. I will tell you 
this, sir — there never was a man against whom this shame- 
ful charge would have been less true. You tell me you 
believe my word, but you don’t believe me. You ask me 
to defend myself. I will defend myself when I am charged, 
but not before. How can I defend myself against the 
blackguards who throw the mud of their own hearts at me 
in the dark? Defense! What defense has a man in such 
a case, except in his contempt of his assailants?” 


196 


hearts: QUEEH;, KHAYE, Ai^D DEUCE, 


The speech was a little incoherent, but then righteous- 
anger is just as likely to be incoherent as unrighteous 
anger, and when Tom let himself loose he began to feel 
well-nigh mad with rage and grief. That he of all men 
should be charged with wallowing in that hog-pen of sen- 
sual nastiness! The thought half-choked him. One cruel 
and false estimate of him had robbed him of his love, and 
now a lie as wicked as ever was coined was circulating from 
hand to hand with his figure stamped on it as a beast^s, to 
make him odious in all good men^s eyes. 

“ If you have any pretensions to my daughter’s hand,”" 
said Lording, your own hands must "be clean. And they 
must not only be clean, but men must know that they are 
clean. You can go out and track the story if you like. 
Almost anybody will tell it to you, or a part of it. I’m 
only just and fair to my own child — not ^’uel or unreason- 
able with you. Before you come to us again set yourself 
straight about this matter. ” 

‘‘We had better say ‘Good-bye’ at once, sir,” Tom 
answered. “ There can be no service in delay.” 

“ Very well,” said the old fellow, sorrowfully. He had 
no doubt that Tom was maligned, or he tried to believe 
that he had none, and he was grieved to the heart at the 
whole business. But his soul revolted at the thought of 
Mary’s name being coupled with such a story, and he could 
do no other than he had done. “ Clear yourself and come 
to me again,” he said at the door, “ and you’ll find me 
what I’ve always been.” 

“ Thank you,” said Tom, coldly. 

“ Tom ” said Lording, turning for a last effort, “ this 
lofty way of yours brought about the quarrel with your 
father. People who know you will accept your word, per- 
haps, but your friends have a right to ask more of you than 
a bare denial. You haven’t the right to grieve us all in 
this way.” He paused, but received no answer. “ Think 
it over, my lad,” said Lording, in a voice which began to 
be untrustworthy, “ and you’ll see things as I do. Good- 
bye, my lad. There’s no malice or disbelief in my mind^ 
but I can’t help myself. Good-bye, Tom.” 

“Good-day, sir,” said Tom, as coldly as before, and 
Lording with a wistful look went out. 

Tom sat down at the table and began to push about the 
disorderly manuscripts upon it, but he could not distin- 


HEARTS: QUEEi^^, Ki^AVE, A^^J) DEUCE. 197 

giiish dne sheet from another, and in a while he rose and 
walked with irregular and disordered steps about the room. 
The tears of rage and shame and misery were hot in his 
eyes, but he fought them back and would not yield to them. 

Whilst he was still in this unhappy state, Baretti came 
down in his velvet sack, and his gay cap and slippers. 
His face beamed, and he entered the room with a fantastic 
step. 

‘‘ Carroll,^'' he began, I have an inspiration. It is on 
canvas already. Come and look at it. Then he caught 
sight of Tomb’s wild face and ran toward him, What is 
the matter? You are ill? What is it? Sit down, Carroll, 
sit down."^^ 

Damn the whole base world cried Tom, flinging 
himself out of Barettf s hands. Curse the foul-hearted, 

foul-mouthed hc^nds that All it!^^ 

Carroll, cried the painter, ^Svhat is it?^^ He had 
never seen his friend enraged before, and the youngster^s 
aspect, commonly so bland and gentle, was frightfully 
altered now. His wee was hoarse with passion, his face 
was deadly pale and hard, and his eyes glared like a mad- 
man^s. He was nearer the boundary line between mad- 
ness and sanity at that moment than any man can go with 
safety. He felt it, and trembled for himself, and the 
tremor saved him. He leashed himself by one tremendous 
effort, and sat down in a quiet more terrible than his 
momentary violence. Baretti, alarmed by his aspect and 
the wildness of his words, and fearing to disturb him anew, 
kept silence for a time. Then he ventured once more to 
lay a hand upon his friend^s shoulder, and said once more, 
in a voice as gentle as a woman^s, Carroll — my friend — 
dearest of my friends — what is it?^^ 

Tom dropped his face into his hands, and a scalding tear 
or two had way in spite of him. He looked up with the 
moisture still glistening in his wild eyes. 

Go now, Baretti,^^ he said, with a great effort. 

Come in half an hour. I canT talk now.^^ He waved 
Baretti away with a gesture of such mingled entreaty and 
command that the painter lingeringly retired, and went 
slowly up the stairs to his own room. Tom could hear him 
pacing to and fro, and, sore and bitter as he was, he found 
some comfort in his friend '’s nearness, and the certainty of 
his sympathy. In a minute or two at the most he began 


198 


hearts: queeh, khaye, ahd deece. 


to recover his lost mastery of himself, and having bathed 
and dressed, he sat down to await Baretti. When the little 
man came he saw the change of his friend^ s appearance 
and augured well of it, and Tom justified the augury, for 
he broke down no more, but told the story of Lording ^s 
visifc with a calm almost judicial. Baretti, indeed, dis- 
played the more emotion of the two, though he was careful 
— in the memory of Tom^s late outbreak — to repress him- 
self for his friend^ s sake. 

There was a struggle in Baretti^ s heart the rage of which 
would not be easy to exaggerate in words. For if gratitude 
were a passion with him, his love for his friend^ s sweet- 
heart none the less fought for unrivaled domination, and 
the hopes and joys that sprung up anew within him at this 
story were terrible in the fierce light of his own scorn and 
hatred of them, and. the passion of his seM-con tempt. The 
manhood in him won the day, as it had done before, but 
the conflict left him stricken and hysterical. 

My cousin Mark,^^ said Tom, when he had told the 
story, gave me an inkling of some such charge against 
me. 

Your cousin Mark,^^ said Baretti, with curious quiet, 
is a very astute person, and he plays his game well. 

What does this mean?'’^ inquired Tom. 

It means, said Baretti, that I suspect your cousin 
Mark to be the man who sets tliis story afoot. Listen, Car- 
roll. Whose turn will this tale serve? Your cousin 
Markus! Who is the one man in all the world who finds 
it to his interest to throw a cloud about your character? 
Your cousin Mark! Now listen. Speak if you like when 
I have done. Is it a common characteristic of mankind to 
be so self-sacrificing as to throw over a fortune like your 
father^s for a scruple of honor? Would not most men 
throw over the scruple for the fortune? And has not this 
fine Cousin Mark of yours protested a little overmuch? 
And did you ever know him as a self-sacrificing man?^^ 

He never had a chance to be,^^ said Tom, he was 
always hard-up, poor Mark. You Ye wrong, Baretti. 
MarkY too open for such a dastardly course as that, but he 
always pretended to be a cynic, and some people believed 
him.^^ 

I have reason for distrusting him,^^ said Baretti. He 
was trying to make a stalking horse of you in that affair of 


HEAKTS: KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 199 

Malfi^s. You believe his innocence in that? I know him 
to be guilty. Signora Malfi confessed her perfidy to her 
husband, and defied him.^^ 

‘Mle was not her husband/^ said Tom. 

Of that I know nothing/^ said Baretti, coolly. And 
it is not material to the case. My argument is that he 
proclaimed his innocence to you, and that he was guilty, 
and that he used you and meant to use you as a screen. 
And I maintain that a man of whom that is true will stop 
at nothing. What? He abused your confidence and 
friendship to profit by them in an intrigue, and he will not 
abuse them to gain a fortune? Carroll, the truth is as 
plain as the sun that shines in heaven. You told me that 
you found him locked in with Bethesda at the theater — 
Baretti was willing to take anything to throw at Mark — 
what did that i^ean?^^ 

Tom, on the other side, was willing to attack the weaker 
portions of Baretti^s argument, and to leave the stronger 
parts untouched. A boar or tiger will charge at anything 
when wounded, but a gentleman is another sort of animal, 
and he was no more disposed to be suspicious of his cousin 
Mark now than he would have been if this base libel had 
never hurt him. 

It meant nothing,^^ he answered. They locked the 
door because the ordinary latch didnT act. That was all.^^ 
These side suspicions weakened Baretti^s case instead of 
strengthening it. It is always a good rule in criminal pro- 
ceedings to charge no more than you can prove. 

At this instant their talk found an unexpected diver- 
sion. They had already heard a ring at the front door, 
but had scarcely noticed it, and now, with a hurried knock, 
and no waiting for a response, in burst Lording, with a red 
face and panting breath, waving a newspaper in his hand. 

Have you told Mr. Baretti about this matter?^'’ he 
asked. Tom nodded a surprised assent. Then I can 
speak at once. You asked me just now what you were to 
fight. Fight that. And he fiung the newspaper on the 
table. Ik’s a low rag, I kilow, but you can wipe your 
hands on it as well as if it were the ^ Times ^ itself.'’^ 

Tom took up the journal and looked at it. He knew it 
at a glance, for its name was commonly cried by hawkers 
about the streets, and he had heard it spoken of once or 
twice at the clubs and elsewhere as a sort of journalistic 


200 hearts: queek^ khave^ ahd deuce. 

sewer. Civilization amongst other curious matters has 
given us this particular joy. The liberty of the press is a 
glorious thing, and with a great price bought our ancestors 
this freedom, but in this mixed world no blessing is un- 
mixed. You may buy nowadays the pure milk of the 
w^ord, or, turkey stuffed with truffles gay,^^ if the dish 
suit you, and you may have either served in gold and silver, 
but the human porker likes his cabbage-stalk served in a 
gutter, and he gets it seasoned to taste. 

There was no difficulty in finding the paragraph Lord- 
ing had come to show, for the old boy had marked it round 
with a quill pen in something of a triumphant rage, if the 
look of the heavy lines could be trusted. Tom re^ it with 
a sense of rising indignation and disgust. It was written 
with a high pretense of moral tone, and that was only nat- 
ural, for the British porker, unlike his French brother, pre- 
fers an almost religious seasoning with his garbage. A 
moral tone can make even cabbage-stalks respectable, and 
they eat the better for respectability, delicious as they are 
without it. 

You^’ll fight that?^^ asked Lording, still breathing 
hard with haste. 

Yes,^^ said Tom, with a pugnacious look which was 
strange to him. I think Ifil fight it. I am much 
obliged to you for bringing it."^^ 

This brings the thing to a head, you see,^^ said Lord- 
ing, and I^m glad I chanced upon it. 

So am 1 /’ said Tom. Heartily glad.^^ 

You’d better come to my lawyer,” said Lording. 
This isn’t in his line, but he’ll tell us the best man to 
go to, and we must begin at once. ” 

They walked out and took a cab together, leaving Ba- 
retti at home. In less than half an hour they were closeted 
together with a shrewd criminal lawyer, and in ten minutes 
he knew as much of the case as he wanted to know at that 
stage. 

“ We prove publication tp begin with,” said the lawyer, 
and will do that at once.” He rang his bell. Go to 
that address, Mr. Wilder, and bring a copy of ^ The Way 
of the World.’ You may point out this paragraph, and 
may say that a libel suit will be based upon it.” 

The clerk retired, and with another word or two the law- 
yer bowed out his visitors, and was deep in a fresh case in 


hearts: queeh^ khave, akd deuce. 201 

five minutes. Lording, having begun to fight on Tomb’s 
side, was disposed to go with him heart and soul, but there 
was one thing on his mind which weighed against the 
youngster. He spoke of it at last, though with reluctance. 

Tom,^^ he said, as they walked toward Montague Gar- 
dens together, ‘‘ I want to ask a question. I passed by the 
Garrick Theater the other morning — it^s a week or two 
ago now — and I saw a young- woman hanging on to you in 
the street at the main entrance. I didn^t like the look of 
it, and it made me readier to receive these stories than I 
should have been if I hadn^t seen it. Now tell me, what 
was it?^^ 

I would raj;her not tell you yet,^"^ said Tom, to Lord- 
ing^s indignation, but the old boy^^s feelings were a little 
calmed by what follows. She is singing at the Garrick, 
and her name is Signora Malfi. If you will ask Baretti 
about her, he can tell you something, and I will fill in the 
rest. 

Markus scheme, ably as it had been built up, began to 
look shaky. Baretti told his story in answer to Lording'’ s 
inquiry, and did more. He let loose his suspicions of 
Mark Carroll, and a seed or two of them fell in Lording^s 
mind and took growth there. It was not easy for an open 
and generous nature like Lording^ s to give nutriment to a 
belief in a villainy so shameless in any man he had famil- 
iarly known. He struggled against his conviction, if but 
feebly. 

' No, no, Mr. Baretti, Mark isn^’t so bad as that. He 
to anted to put Tom straight with his father. He begged 
me to go down to him at once and mediate with him. I 
went down,^^ said Lording, rubbing his head with a rueful 
look, and like an old fool, I h^ a row with him, and 
made things worse than ever.^^ 

Mr. Mark Carroll is a very astute young man indeed, 
said Baretti, with a smile which was not altogether pretty 
to look at. 

Why,^^ cried Lording, glaring at him, do you think 
he sent me down on purpose to have a row with his uncle 
Mr. Carroll, said the painter, ‘Ms the last man in 
the world with whose domestic concerns I should be in- 
clined to meddle. His son and his friend will forgive me 
if I say that Mr. CarrolLs sense of his own dignity is a lit- 
tle exaggerated. Mr. Lording will forgive me if I say that 


20? hearts: queejs^, k^staye, ahd deuce. 

his own warm temper and impetuous good-heartedness 
make him the last man in the world to send to Mr, Carroll 
on such a message at such a moment. And Mr. Mark 
may or may not forgive me if I say that he reckoned on 
that, and played his game with the cunning I gave him 
credit for. 

Pooh!^^ said Lording, feebly; but he was evidently 
confounded by Baretti^s suspicion, and had no heart to 
fight against it. 

Mr. Mark CarrolPs anxiety to be rid of his uncle 
fortune is a little too pressing to my mind,^^ said the 
painter. Everybody knows how easy it is to believe a 
thing by mere dint of talking about it, and by this time 
Baretti was confident of the truth of his suspicions, and 
saw the ground more and more plainly at his feet, and felt 
his steps more certain every minute. Lording began to 
share his doubts, and even Tom^s belief in Mark was some- 
what shaken. 

ril tell you what I^^ll do,^^ said Lording at last. Pll 
go and see Mark, and have a talk with him about it.^^ 

And get angry with him in five minutes, said Ba- 
retti, with a laugh, to make the thing less biting, and tell 
him the truth about himself, and put him on his guard. 
Forgive me, Mr. Lording. Let me go/^ 

I am a little hot-tempered, I^m afraid, said Lording, 
sorrowfully. I fly out at things. Pm not fit to meddle 
with these matters, but if 1 promise that 1^11 hold my 
tongue will you take me with you, and let me judge him 
for myself?^^ 

Baretti could scarcely refuse this, and in effect they set 
out for Markus hotel, and found the young man there in a 
state of warm indignation at the libelous paragraph, which 
had been put into his hand by a friend. 

Tom will prosecute for libel?^^ he asked. 

He has taken proceedings already, said Baretti. 

Eight cried Mark warmly. I wish I were free to 
act for him, but my fear of losing my influence over his 
father ties my hands, and I canT do it. Will he institute 
a criminal prosecution, or go for damages? IPs not of 
much use to go for damages, though, against a rag like 
that, scornfully indicating the journal, which lay upon 
the table of his room. 

Lording looked at Baretti meaningly. Everything 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KNAYE^ AND DEUCE. 203 

seemed open and above-board about Mark. It was scarcely 
believable that a. man could speak as he did and not 
mean it. ^ 

How does Tom take it?^^ Mark asked. I was going 
up to see him when you called. I leave town to-morrow, 
and he ought to be assured at once of the confidence and 
sympathy of all his friends. There ought to be a cat-o""- 
nine-tails for that sort of fellow/^ waving his hand again 
toward the journal. There was some truth in Marks's 
anger at the newspaper. The libelous paragraph gave 
Tom a chance to come forward with a contradiction so 
complete that it might excite even his father^ s sympathy 
for the undeserved shames he had endured. The filthy 
scandal-mongers!^^ cried Mark aloud, with an air of rage. 

The hobbling idiots!^^ he added inwardly. How could 
I reckon on their stepping in to spoil my game?^^ 

Well,^^ said Lording, when Mark had run upstairs to 
his bedroom for hat and gloves, what do you think of 
him? Doesn^t he look honest enough?^^ 

He plays well,^^ said Baretti. Wait and see.'^^ 


CHAPTER XX. 

The preliminary proceedings made Tom Carroll fa- 
mous. They did more. They filled the Garrick Theater 
night after night with an audience eager to see the ladies 
who were the subject of so engaging a scandal. If the 
lessee^s arrangements had been less extravagantly made, 
Godiva might have been worth money to him; but as 
things were, the inevitable, unavoidable loss went on, de- 
layed or hastened by fiuct nations, but continuous. Tom 
and Baretti had talked the thing thoroughly over, and had 
come to the conclusion that to attempt to lessen the ex- 
penses by discharging the famous artists who performed in 
the opera and engaging less famous and less able singers in 
their place would be suicidal. To spend now and to go on 
spending in reason so long as the public cared to fill^the 
house seemed wise to both of them, because Tom would 
have it that all the money thus thrown broadcast was seed 
for file future, and Baretti was kept in ignorance of the 
amount of his resources. 

I have my mother'^s fortune,^'’ Tom would say, with- 


204 hearts: queeh, khaye, ahd deuce. 

out a thought of deceiving Baretti as to its magnitude. 
The painter never guessed how slender his friend^s . re- 
sources wer^%rowing. 

Godiva had already achieved a success large enough 
to impose upon the ignorant public; but those who were 
behind the scenes^ all theatrical critics, actors and singers, 
and professional musicians all over London, managers, 
theatrical agents, and publishers of music, were perfectly 
aware of the truth. The truth did nobody any harm, as 
they sujDposed Tom Carroll to be a man of great wealth, 
and some of them thought of a fool and his money, and 
the rapid partition which is said to be effected between 
them. 

Tom would willingly have stopped the work and closed 
the theater long before the great libel case came on, but he 
felt how disastrous a step that might be to him. He could 
foresee the construction the other side would put upon it, 
and in fancy he could see an eminent pleader of name un- 
known pounding a police-court table, and informing the 
court that the alleged libel had had the effect of closing a 
house in which such infamy was practiced — that the wit- 
nesses had been purposely scattered by the complainant to 
prevent prejudice to his own case — that it was easily to be 
proved, and would be proved before that charge was dis- 
posed of, that the receipts at the house had never been 
higher than they were at the time at which the doors of 
the house were closed — and so forth and so forth. And so 

Godiva ran, and the law^s delays kept the libel case 
hanging on, and the great gulf of poverty came nearer and 
nearer, and no man guessed it, except the man who was 
plunging into it, and who saw no way to avoid it. 

The fame Tom Carroll got out of the proceedings in the 
libel case was not the sort after which he thirsted, and 
when the actual trial of the case came on he was subjected 
to great unpleasantness. Bowder, Q.C.;, was engaged for 
the other side, and made it extremely unpleasant for the 
complainant. 

‘‘Now, Mr. Carroll,^ ^ said Bowder, Q.C., hitching his 
gown at him when he got him in the box, “ I believe you 
are a man of spotless moral character. 

“ Thank you, sir,^^ said Tom, who was cooler thah he 
expected to be. 

Pray don^t accept that as my conclusion, Mr. Car- 


hearts: queer-, khaye, ard deuce.. 205 

roll/^ said Bowder, who could be facetious, I may en- 
tertain a different opinion/^ 

Now this seemed a little unwarrantably insolent, and 
Tom let out a facer in return. 

Naturally,'’^ he said. You are paid to entertain a 
different opinion. 

“ I will leave you, sir,^^ said the notable criminal bar- 
rister, with an air of injured dignity, I will leave you, 
sir, to reflect upon the good taste of that observation at 
your leisure. But now, Mr. Carroll, the stand -point you 
take is that you come into court to prefer this charge as a 
man of spotless moral character? Come. That is so, I 
fancy 

The stand-point Ltake is that the article complained of 
is false and scandalous, said Tom. 

And that you are a man of spotless moral character?^ ^ 
That is a claim few men might care to prefer, said 
Tom. 

You don^t care to put it forward in your own case?^^ 
asked Bowder, Q. C. 

Do you?^^ returned the complainant. 

The case was interesting, and the court was full. There 
were two or three barristers present who had nothing on 
their hands, and who knew Mr. Bowder and his ways. The 
defendant's counter-query tickled these gentlemen so that 
they led the- court on to laughter, and for half a second 
the notable barrister was disconcerted. But this game of 
fence was old to him, and he knew better than to lose his 
temper. 

You mistake the situation, Mr. Carroll,^^he said, with 
suave humor. It is you who are under cross-examina- 
tion, and not 1. Perhaps we may be allowed to put the 
matter in this way: Without actually being a man of spot- 
less moral character, you like it to be thought so?^^ 

Kindly proceed to your examination, if you please,^ ^ 
answered the complainant. You can^t mend a bad case 
by intellectual horse-play. ^ 

You remind me of my duty to my clients, said Bow- 
der, still suavely humorous, though a certain wickedness 
underlay the suavity. I am obliged to you. Did you 
ever stand in the dock of a police-court, Mr. Carroll 

^‘Never.^^ 

Upon your oath?^^ 


206 


hearts: queek, khaye^ akd deuce. 


Upon my oath."^^ 

Hr. Bowcler^s attendant satellite pulled him by the gown, 
and whispered. Bowder stopped to listen^ and rose smiU 
ing. 

At leasts Mr. Carroll^ you have been in the hands of 
the police?^^ 

I have/^ said Tom, quietly. 

And this is not your first appearance in a court of ins- 
tice?'''' 

I think you did not make the other appearance to 
which I allude as a witness, but as a prisoner 

I appeared as the defendant in a case of assault. 

Don^t you think you might have been a little more 
ingenuous at first, Mr. Carroll?^'’ asked the able Bowder. 
‘^You did not appear in the dock? Where did you ap- 
pear 

I had a seat in the body of the court, Tom answered, 
feeling anything but comfortable. The apparent quibble 
on his answer troubled him. Perhaps the court will al- 
low me to explain. I have no desire to evade this examina- 
tion. A categorical question was put to me, and 1 an- 
swered it; but I have no wish to fence about trifles.''^ 

You think a charge of wanton and provoked assault a 
trifle, Mr. Carroll asked Bowder. No man at the bar 
(and this is one of the blots upon our legal system which 
can scarcely be scraped away) is expected to be fair to an 
adverse witness. 

Permit me,^"" said the complainant, to throw myself 
upon your merciful consideration.^^ This he said satirical- 
ly, and it was well enough, but before it was fairly spoken 
he lost his temper for a second or two, and added, 
neither said nor mean that, sir, and you know it.'’^ He 
was not accustomed to be badgered in this way, and it cost 
him all he knew to restrain his anger. 

This anger gave him no advantage, and, recognizing that 
fact, he prepared to control himself anew. 

‘‘ Very well, Mr. Carroll, said the barrister, jauntily. 

We will come to matters of fact. You have been in the 
hands of the police, and you have appeared before a magis- 
trate. Was the charge against you dismissed ?^^ 

It was held to be proved,^^ Tom answered, and I 
was fined twenty pounds.'’^ 


hearts: queex, knaye, and deuce. 


207 


I am obliged to you for your candor, Mr. Carroll/^ said 
the Q.O., benevolently malicious. You were fined twenty 
pounds. And do you read the newspapers?^'' 

Occasionally/^ Tom answered, seeing what was com- 

ing. 

‘^Are you acquainted with a j)ublication called ‘ The 
Mirror ^?^^ 

I know that there is such a journal. 

You know there is such a journal. Now, since you 
are in a candid mood for the moment, you may, perhaps, 
admit that you saw an article in that journal relating to 
yourself. I can assist you if your memory fails you. It 
appeared on the day following your appearance at the po- 
lice-court. Did you see it?"^ 

I saw it. 

I believe it spoke of your rowdy and disgraceful con- 
duct 

It condemned me in the strongest terms. I can not 
call its terms to mind.^" 

It condemned you in the strongest terms. Thank 
you. Do you happen to remember that it spoke of the 
leniency of the Bench as having probably been distorted by 
your wealth and social position?^" 

I remember that.^^ 

And that it expressed very strongly an opinion that 
your offense would more fittingly have been punished by 
imprisonment than by fine?^^ 

I remember that also.^^ 

I presume, Mr. Carroll, that you expected these ques- 
tions?^^ 

I expected them. Certainly. 

And that the prospect did not encourage you to pose 
as a man of spotless moral character?^^ 

Cold silence. 

Well, Mr. Carroll, pursued the practiced tormentor, 
that is a point upon which you are naturally sensitive, 
and upon which I will not press you."^ The people in the 
court thought this amusing and laughed at it. But now, 
sir, will you be so obliging as to tell us what domestic event 
followed upon your appearance at the police-court?^^ 

Be more explicit, if you please. 

I believe you maintain your innocence of that charge 
of which we have just spoken.^" 


208 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 

Emphatically.^^ 

Do your friends accept your disclaimer? Is it or is it 
not a fact that your father instantly cast you otf, and that 
he still refuses to speak to you?^’ 

‘‘It is true that I am not on terms of friendship with 
my father/'’ 

And is it true that the breach arose out of your rowdy 
and disgraceful conduct ?^^ 

“ That is certainly untrue.’’^ 

“ That it arose out of the assault and battery upon the 
person of Mr. Moss?^ 

“It arose, chiefly, as I believe,’^ Tom answered, from 
my father ^s anger at the publicity that case had received.'’^ 
“ Did he decline to receive your account of the case?^’ 

“ Unhappily, he did. 

“ I can sympathize with your regret, said Bowder, and 
this time the laughter was hearty. It was not the fault 
of the laughers that they could not know how lofty and 
tender was the nature which was thus wrung and tortured. 
“ Now, I will ask you another question, if you please, Mr. 
Carroll. I see by the public advertisements that Mr. Be- 
thesda is the nominal lessee of the Garrick Theater. Who 
is the real lessee ?^^ 

“ I am the actual lessee. 

“ And Mr. Be thesda, persistently announced as the lessee^ 
‘ the sole lessee,'’ never was the lessee at all?^^ 

“ Quite so. '’^ 

‘ ‘ Does a representation of that sort fit with your notions 
of spotless honor, Mr. Carroll?'’'’ 

“ It is a common practice,’’^ Tom answered. 

“ And a most convenient gne, no doubt,^^ said Bowder,. 
in a sort of virtuous triumph over vice exposed. “ I will 
not detain you much longer, sir. Tho taking of the the- 
ater was a purely commercial speculation?^^ 

“ Not purely commercial. 

“Not purely commercial ?^^ cried Bowder. “You have 
been kind enough to admit so much that by and by you 
may oblige us by admitting everything. What other ele- 
ment — '’'’ 

“ I took the Garrick Theater chiefly for the jDurpose of 
laying my own work before the public. 

“ And as a commercial speculation?^^ 


HEAETS: QUEEN^ KETAVE^ AND DEUCE. 209 

Tom answered^ a commercial specula- 

tion. 

‘‘ Now, will you be good enough to tell us whether it has 
ever succeeded as a commercial speculation?^'' 

It has not succeeded. 

Have you or have you not lost money from the first 
I have lost money from the first. 

Is it or is it not a fact within your knowledge that the 
house will not hold enough to pay the working expenses ?^^ 
That fact was brought to my knowledge shortly after 
the opening of the theater."" 

And you held on to your precious commercial specula- 
tion?"" 

I had reasons for continuing it."" 

We shall get at them by and by/" said Bowder. 

Then followed a long series of questions about Miss This 
and Miss That, to every one of which Tom could give a 
direct and honest negative. Beat about as he would, Bow- 
der could fasten no admission on him here, but the young 
fellow already stood dangerously prejudiced. The judge 
knew how to estimate a good deal of what had gone on 
already; but the jury and some of the listeners thought the 
nominal lesseeship of Bethesda and the reckless financing 
of the house looked as black against the complainant as 
his admission about the assault and the Mirror."" 

But many of the performers in ^^Godiva"" were people 
of repute; and they came up one after another to give a 
blank denial to the allegations of the libel. Nothing Bow- 
der Q.O., could do could shake these witnesses, and to any 
candid mind it was as clear as day that the morality of the 
Garrick was a little higher than that of most theaters, in- 
stead of being a great deal lower. In his address to the 
jury, Bowder, Q.O., was very crushing with the com- 
plainant. You saw, gentlemen, how he shuffled and 
squinted and prevaricated in that box before you."" Bow- 
der was so indignant at this that the jury really thought 
they had seen it, and shared the eminent pleader"s indigna- 
tion at it. Then the great man was mightily sarcastic 
over the commercial speculation, and having already dragged 
the real figures out of Bethesda, he demanded to know if 
any man in whom there dwelt one scintilla of intelligence 
was asked to believe that there was not some sinister pur- 
pose behind a profusion so prodigal as that of the com- 


^10 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


plaiiiant. But he was at his best in dealing with the as- 
sault case. Here he rose to heights of moral indignation 
so sublime, and drew pictures of the wreck of domestic 
liopes in the Carroll family so touching that the jury were 
ready to acquit the defendants on the spot. The judge 
set all this right, however, as he generally can do, and the 
intelligent dozen of men gradually sobered under the ju- 
dicial shower of fact and reason. On the evening of the 
third day of the trial they retired, and, after considering 
for some half hour, brought in a verdict of Guilty against 
the editor and publisher. The judge, with a necessary 
word or two about the liberty of the Press and the sanctity 
■of private characters, sentenced the pair to twelve months 
apiece, and the great libel case was at an end, and Tom 
CarrolFs character had had the black so rubbed into it 
that nothing could get it altogether clear again. People 
knew very well that where there is smoke there is fire, and 
very few thought Tom well out of the case. 

It is an old aphorism that you have only to throw plenty 
of mud to make sure of it sticking, and a good deal of the 
mud which had been thrown at Tom seemed still to the 
public eye to hold fast to him below his legal whitewashing. 
The case came as a sort of godsend to the newspapers, 
which happened otherwise to be dull that week, and it was 
reported at great length, a special staff being employed by 
oach of the leading journals. There was not a man in 
England whose affairs were more relentlessly canvassed 
whilst the trial lasted and for a few days afterward. 

Now all this was gall and wormwood to Mary Lording, 
who heard a great deal more about it than Tom himself. 
Ladies found a curious fascination in the case, and spoke 
with a shuddering joy of that horrid Mr. Carroll, whom they 
had used to think so nice and who had turned out to be so 
very, very dreadful. Some spoke in ignorance, and some 
in spite, and some in condolence, and the girl bore it since 
it had to be borne. She refused absolutely and entirely to 
believe one word of evil against the man slie had known 
from his boyhood and her own infancy, and had never 
known anything but a gentleman. She scorned and hated 
the calumnies wliich surrounded him, and she scorned and 
iiated those who believed in them. She was not Tom^s 
lover, but she was his honest friend and stanch partisan. 
And she would have been his lover too, with all these 


heI^ts: queen, knave, and deuce. 211 

troubles behind him to push him into her arms, if it had 
not been for her own hearths memories of Baretti. 

As for Tom, his position was extremely difficult. He 
was on the verge of bankruptcy, and the promises he had 
made to himself were unfulfilled. He felt himself soiled 
by the infamies which had been brought so near him, and,, 
innocent as he was, he felt vile in his own eyes when he 
thought of Mary. How could a pure-minded woman bear 
to think of associating herself for life with a man who had 
been the center of such a story? 

This sort of exaggerated fineness of sentiment, as every- 
body knows, can have the edge taken off it by close and 
constant intercourse, but Tom stayed away from Lording^’s 
house, and gave himself no chance. His growing poverty 
gave him a more genuine reason for absence than his mor- 
bid delicacy provided, and everything he had to do at this 
time seemed to proclaim him a failure. 

When the trial was over the last reason for keeping up 
the run -of the opera at the Garrick had disappeared. The 
people knew he was a failure, and that he had thrown 
away five or six thousand pounds in the attempt to make 
himself look like a success. 

Advertise the last six nights, Bethesda,^^ he said to his 
manager. 

There are no arrangements for anything to follow 
asked Bethesda, half questioningly. 

^o,^^ said Tom. I think 1 have had about enough 
of theatrical enterprise. Do you think we can relet the 
house?^^ 

I should say there is every chance of it,^^ said Bethes- 
da. Every chance. 

Very well,^^ said Tom. ‘‘ Send out the posters, ^ Last 
six nights of the enormous musical failure, Godiva.^^ ^ 
I shall be glad to have done with it. 

Mr. Bethesda, looking after the retreating figure of his 
patron, smiled humility and benevolence. 

He can afford it, poor young gentleman,^^ said Mr. 
Bethesda, inwardly. It^s a pity, but the blow is not 
likely to prove fatal to him. I have not done badly in his 
company, though I expected to do better. A young gentle- 
man with a good deal of money and no knowledge of busi- 
ness is sometimes a very awkward sort of customer to deal 
with, but Mr. Carroll has been a pearl among employers.'’'' 


212 HEARTS: QUEEI5', KHAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 

Since Tom would not call on Lording, the old fellow 
called on Tom, without any decided idea of what he meant 
to say to him. He began to talk about the finish of the 
trial, and after expressing his exultation at the punishment 
which had been inflicted upon the libelers, he found Tom 
so irresponsive that it was difficult to go on. 

Tom,'’^ said the old boy, suddenly, treat me fairly. 
Tell me about your plans. What are you going to do?"’"’ 

I shall do as best I can, sir,'’^ Tom answered. I can 
make a living, I dare say.-^^ 

Make a living cried Lording, savagely. Why the 
devil don^t you behave like a sensible fellow?^*^ 

Tom knew what his companion meant, but he returned 
no answer. He was all but bankrupt, and the whole world 
knew of the failure which had so long been bolstered up by 
money, and blazoned as a success in all the journals. And 
though he . had gained his case against the scandal which 
had assailed him, he knew very well that there were scores 
of people who thought him soiled by it. It was in Lord- 
ing’ s mind that Tom ought somehow to be penitent and 
ashamed of himself, and generally docile, and, in fact, the 
two men were, in a word, at once depressed and irritable. 

I am not going to throw myself at the head of any 
man who doesn^’t want me,'’^ said Lording. l\e stuck 
by you all the time, and I^d stick by you now if you^d let 
me. But since you won^t, Fm going. When you come to 
your senses, I shall be glad to see you. 

Very well, sir,^'’ said Tom, sadly and bitterly. There 
was no open quarrel, for there was no ground for an open 
quarrel between them, but Lording rose and went his way. 
It was not his fault, he told himself. He was not the man 
to desert another in extremity. But he could go no fur- 
ther than he had gone, and it was shameful to keep on 
throwing his daughter at the head of a man who would 
not take her. But he was not happy, and he felt as if, 
after all, he had acted shabbily. This is not a sentiment 
calculated to improve the temper, and by the time he 
reached home he was in a state of hot wrath against him- 
self and Tom. Mary saw his disturbance and asked its 
cause. 

Fve been trying to bring that young fool to reason,^ ^ 
he said, rather unfairly. He^s like a bear with a sore 
head. I can^t get a word out of him, and I^m not going 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAYE, AIS^D DEUCE. 213 

to fling my child at the head of any man who doesn^t 
choose to take her.''^ 

“ Papa/ ^ said the girl, bending over him and caressing 
him, remember how tried he has been and how unfortu- 
nate. 

She felt that she, at least, should be true to him in spite 
of everything, and she went away to write a hopeful letter 
to him. If only it had been possible to make him happy 
without marrying him! She tried to write the hopeful let- 
ter, and the words that came to her pen were on one sheet 
so icy and on another so overwarm that she could make 
nothing of the task, and after a dozen efforts gave it up. 
If she could have written, I love you, and if you leave 
me you will break my heart, the whole thing would nat- 
urally have ended and determined then and there. But 
she could not write it truly, and she could not bring her- 
self to feign it. And all the time her heart was more- with 
Baretti than with Tom, and she had her own unhappiness, 
and the best of human hearts are selfish in misery. 

The letter went unwritten. She would leave it to events 
to untangle themselves. 


CHAPTEE XXI. 

About a fortnight after the closing of the Garrick 
Theater Azubah Moore received an annoying statement 
from her teacher of singing. For the future his terms 
would be multiplied by eight. 

But surely, she said, “ that is a very extraordinary 
increase.'’^ 

As a matter of fact,^^ said the teacher, it is not an 
increase at all. I ask for no more than I have always re- 
ceived — ^for no more than the payment of my ordinary 
terms. ^ ^ 

She answered that she did not understand, and her look 
of bewilderment was too natural to be feigned. 

The difference, he said, has hitherto been paid, 
but I can not reckon upon it any longer. 

Has been paid?^^ she asked, in angry amazement. 

By whom?^^ 

By Mr. Carroll,^^ returned the teacher. 

By Mr. Carroll she repeated. She could scarcely 


214 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KKAVE, AXD DEUCE. 


be angry at that^ for it was to him that she and her father 
and mother had consented to owe everything. In spite of 
the daily papers she was ignorant of the great libel case, 
and she knew nothing of Tom^s losses, or of that family 
quarrel which had been public all the world over. 

By Mr. Carroll,^^ said the teacher again. I had 
supposed you knew of it, but it was no concern of mine. 
But now. Miss Moore, that Mr. Carroll is no longer in a 
position to keep up his share of the payments, I must ask 
for a revision of our contract, or — He made a motion 
with his hands as if he tossed something away. 

Mr. Carroll is no longer in a position to pay you?^^ 
asked the girl. She was not thinking of herself •at alL 

What has happened 

I^m afraid, said the teacher, that he is ruined. 
Haven^t you seen the papers? Mr. Carroll has been a good 
deal before the public lately. 

She could only answer, Euined!^^ The thing seemed 
incredible. 

I^m afraid so,^^ said the teacher. If you like. Miss 
Moore, to enter into an arrangement with me to make over 
a share of your professional earnings for the first two 
years, I shall think it worth while to superintend your stud- 
ies without present payment, and even to devote to you 
some special care and attention. Otherwise I shall be 
compelled to ask for my ordinary terms. 

She heard this, but had no understanding for it. 

Can you tell me,^^ she asked, how Mr. Carroll was 
ruined?’^ 

He seems to have lost a good deal of money on his 
theatrical enterprise, and to have quarreled with liis father. 

I know no more about it, but he is said to be completely 
broken. Will you think over my proposal. Miss Moore, 
and give me your conclusions on it?"^ 

Will you write to me?^'’ she answered. I can not tell 
you what I may do.^^ 

He promised, and she left him and walked away, feeling 
quite dazed and staggered. She was but a girl, with a 
very limited knowledge of the world, and its chances of 
rise and fall. It seemed as amazing to be told that 
Mr. Carroll was ruined as it would be to the aver- 
age citizen to learn for certain that the Prince of 
Wales was reduced to the shelter of the workhouse in his 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 215 

native parish. He had always seemed so far above dis- 
tress, so bright, so gay, so grand a seignor altogether, that 
he had been like the creature of another sphere to her. 
And now he was said to be completely- broken. What 
might that mean? Shabbily dressed, ill-shod, ill -lodged, 
ill-fed ? Forlorn and sad-visaged, and in grief? She could 
picture him thus to herself, wild as the vision seemed. 

She was country bred and a stanch walker, and now, 
having her usual musical hour to spare, she went home on 
loot, thinking all the way. Latterly, since her father^s 
accident she had been accustomed to act and think for 
herself, and it was not in her mind as yet to tell anybody 
of the change in her own fortunes which Tom CarrolFs fall 
had brought about. That indeed troubled her very little 
by comparison with his misfortunes. She was so full of 
him that when she reached home and found him sitting 
genial and unchanged in the shop, which he himself had 
provided as a resource for the family, she had scarcely the 
presence of mind to greet him with a mere good-day and 
a shake of the hand. 

He was sitting at the counter talking to Mrs. Moore, 
with a glass of milk and one of the crisp little dairy loaves 
before him. 

What excellent bread you have, to be sure, Mrs. 
Moore, he said, smilingly, ‘‘ and what charming country 
milk. You ought to do a great trade here.^^ 

WeYe doing ' wonderful, thank God, sir,^^ answered 
Mrs. Moore, in a flutter of pleasure. And I doiiT think 
as if Moore only had his health, poor thing, sir, we should 
ever ha^ been better ofl in our lives. 

I^m heartily glad to hear it,^^ he answered, munching 
away at the bread and sipping at the milk. Beautiful 
bread this is, to be sure. And what a sauce an appetite is, 
Mrs. Moore. I haven^t had a meal of bread and milk 
since I was quite a baby.^^ 

No, sir, I suppose not,^^ said Mrs. Moore. 

The girl stood by with her roll of music in her hands 
and watched him. Unchanged? No. That had seemed 
true in the flrst revulsion of reality from the dreadful fan- 
cies she had had of him, but now she could see the trace of 
trouble on his brow and in his eyes. He was very pale, 
too, and when he was silent a look of suffering would settle 


216 hearts: queen, knaye, and deuce. 

upon liis face. In a little while he arose and went away 
with a hearty shake hands for each of them. 

‘‘I canH stay until Moore awakes, Mrs. Moore, but 
you^ll give my respects, and tell him I called, won^t you?^^ 

Azubah ran upstairs and watched him furtively from 
her own window as he went down the street swinging his 
cane in a fashion which looked gay and light-hearted 
enough if it had not been for her memory of those new 
lines upon his face and the look of trouble in his eyes. 
Whilst she watched him his cane ceased to SAving, his gait 
changed, he seemed somehow to droop in his walk, and as 
he turned out of sight, the poise of his head and, indeed the 
attitude of his Avhole figure looked not only thoughtful but 
despondent. 

Azubah Avas one of those Avho act upon impulse, and 
Avho analyze the impulse afterward or not at all. What 
impulse moved her Avhen she ran down -stairs and followed 
Tom Carroll she Avould have been puzzled to say, then or 
afterAvard. It Avas certainly not curiosity. There Avas 
sympathy in it, but sympathy Avas not all. She had flut- 
tered out into the streets, and, turning the corner Tom had 
turned before her, had caught sight of the retreating figure, 
before any questions of her own purpose arose in her 
mind. Then she aAvoke on a sudden to a shamefaced feel- 
ing of obtrusive impertinence, and retreated with both 
cheeks on fire, but not before she had observed aneAv the 
drooping melancholy gait into which Tom Carroll had 
fallen, a gait which expressed despondency and irresolution 
as plainly as the words on a printed page. 

There are prodigious numbers of people in the world 
who have learned almost all they know of human nature 
from novels and the stage. In life a man is not under the 
necessity of making his emotions understood by the deni- 
zens of a distant gallery, and nature plays more subtly 
than art; so subtly that it is only one in a possible ten 
thousand of spectators Avho may guess at Avhat this sign or 
that expresses. To Avalk four or live miles through day- 
light London is to be exposed to the glances of many 
thousands, and yet — unless you purposely publish them — to 
keep your own emotions secret. It is probable that nobody 
but Azubah saAv more than a meditativ^e sloAvness in Tom^s 
walk that afternoon, but she read or seemed to read some- 
thing very like despair in it. 


HEAETS: QUEE]Sr^ KJs^AYE, AKD DEUCE. 217 

She thought of him sadly that afternoon and evening. 
INobody could tell into what depths of poverty she and her 
father and mother might have fallen if it had not been for 
his kindness, and now he himself was in distress. They 
uould pay him back by and by what he had lent them, but 
she knew enough of their differing spheres to tell that the 
sum which had made her father and mother fairly prosper- 
ous would be of little service to him. Tliere are country 
gentlemen in England richer than the owner of Trench 
House, but she had not been bred to think so, and she ex- 
aggerated Tonies fall because she exaggerated his former 
splendors. Yet they must strain every nerve to repay him 
now, little as it would be to him, and she herself owed him 
a private debt which she would be quit of in one Way or 
another. The splendid, generous, kingly youngster, heir 
apparent to the throne of Overhill, the lightest-hearted, 
freest-handed, and most friendly among men, and now, 
said to be completely broken. The girFs tender and 
unworldly heart filled with a dangerous pity. 

She dreamed in her broken sleep that night that he was 
in rags and starving, and she brooded, unhappily, over the 
dream next day. And sitting next morning in the little 
room behind the shop, still brooding over an idle needle, 
she saw the object of her thoughts enter at the door- way, 
and being alone for the moment, she was forced to go in 
and meet him. 

Good morning. Miss Moore, he said, with something 
of an embarrassed air which she could read plainly enough, 
but was at a loss to account for. I have business in this 
part of London just now, and I am becoming quite a fre- 
quent visitor. How is your father to-day?^^ 

He will be glad to see you,^^ said Azubah. Will you 
come in and see him?^^ 

Tom assented, and the girl led the way. The old farmer 
with his wasted face and keen eyes sat in an arm-chair 
smoking. 

Go and look after the shop, Zubah,^^ he said, when 
he and Tom had shaken hands. Mr. Carroll will take 
care of me for a minute or two. The girl obeyed. 
And so, Mr. Thomas,'’^ said Moore, when she had gone, 
our Christian friend has cleared you out, has he?^^ 

This query rather staggered the visitor, and for half a 
minute he returned no answer. 


218 hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 

It was my own fault entirely, Moore,^^ he said at last. 

If by our Christian friend you mean Bethesda — 

I mean Bethesda,^'’ said Moore nodding. 

I think he acted very fairly and honestly all along. 

‘‘Very likely,*^ said the farmer, “very likely. Spilt 
milk, Mr. Thomas, is a foolish thing to cry over. I^m a 
dairyman now, and that proverb seems appropriate. But 
I was never sorrier for anything than I was to read that 
story in the papers. Neither Zubah nor the missis ever 
look at the papers so far as I know, but I tore the leaf out 
and used it bit by bit for pipe-lights lest they should see it. 
It wasnT pretty reading, for a young woman in particular. 

“ No,^^ Tom concurred. “ It wasnT pretty reading. 

“ I^ve heard say, Mr. Thomas, said the farmer, “as 
your mother left you eight thousand pound. Now if what 
the papers reported is true — I havenT seen our Christian 
friend lately, and so I havenT had a chance to ask him 
about it — if what the papers reported is true, there isiiT a 
great deal of it left.-^'’ 

“ No,^^ said Tom, “ there isnT much of it left, Moore. 
There is very little of it left. 

“ And you^ve split with the old squire Tom returned 
no ansvA^er. “It isnT pleasant to talk about it, Mr. 
Thomas, pursued the farmer, “ and I^m not talking out 
of idle curiosity. YouVe split with the old squire?^^ 

“ My father and I have quarreled, said Tom. 

“ Well, that’s no wonder, returned the other. “ And 
what are you going to do? You haven T been brought up 
to do anything. 

It was not easy for Tom Carroll to say that he was 
hawking musical manuscripts from door to door of the 
London publishers. He tried to answer lightly: 

“ I will tell you my plans by and by. I have no fears 
about myself. I have a living at the ends of my fingers, 
Moore. 

“ And the old squire ^s taken up with Mr. Mark, has he?^^ 
said the farmer. “ I can manage to hold a pen by this 
time, and when I read that case in the papers I wrote to 
Wilkins and asked him to send me a line or two about the 
business. He tells me Mr. Mark prophesies ever} Avhere 
that youdl come to your own again, and says he^s nothing 
but a warming-pan. 

“ Yes,^^ said Tom, “ Mark has been sanguine all along. 


HEARTS : QUEElsr, Ki^AYE, AKD DEUCE. 


219 


1^11 bet he has/ ^ returned Moore, with a dry laugh. 
Tom looked at him inquiringly. Here again there was an 
evident suspicion of Mark. 

What do you mean by that, Moore 

Mean?^^ said the farmer, in his crackling voice. 
That he has been sanguine all along. What the dickens 
else should he be? He was as poor as a church mouse be- 
fore the squire took to him, and now it looks as if he^d 
eome in for a pretty penny. Sanguine? I should think he 
was. 

Then you don^t believe that my cousin Mark is doing 
his best to bring about a reconciliation between my father 
and myself ?^^ asked Tom. There had been a time not long 
ago when he would have scorned to speak of these things 
or to listen to them; but that time had gone by, and his 
child-like trust in all men had been sorely shaken. 

I never set up to be a Solomon, said the farmer, 
but I should never have been such a fool as to believe 
that of Mr. Mark, Mr. Thomas. About you, now, I 
might have believed it, for you he one of those saints by 
nature that the world calls fools, and you^d wait an hour 
in the rain any day to help the lame dog that bit you over 
^ stile. But Mr. Mark? No, no. That^s too ridiculous. 

Well, said Tom, with a dreary look, there are a 
good many millions of men in the world who have to make 
their living, and if am to be one of them I can scarcely 
think it a misfortune. And, whatever my cousin Mark is 
doing now, he had nothing to do with the quarrel between 
my father and me. 

Mr, Thomas, said the farmer, seriously, leaning for- 
ward as far as his damaged back would allow him, and 
tapping his visitor's hand with the waxed end of his loug 
pipe. Take my tip, sir. Don^t rely on a word Mr. 
Mark may say for you. It will never be said. INe known 
him since he was that high, and I^^e reckoned him up 
pretty completely. I shouldn^’t wonder if he’d set that 
nasty story abroad about you. He^s the only man in the 
world, it seems to me, who has to gain by damaging you, 
^nd it comes natural to suspect him. 

Either, said Tom, my cousin Mark is the most 
patent rascal in the world, or he and I are targets for the 
whole world^s scandal. But I have learned my lesson. 


220 


hearts: KN^AYE^ A^TD DEUCE. 


Moore. I have been too much maligned myself to be ready 
to listen to scandal about other people. 

Very well/'’ said the farmer. If Mr. Markus a true 
man I"ll eat him. I\e known him man and boy this five- 
and-twenty years. Ilex’s too honest and open and above- 
board for my taste, is Mr. Mark, sir. YouVe been a true 
friend to me and mine. Let me do you a good turn. 
Leave off trusting Mr. Mark. Play on your own hand. 
The old squire^ s a bit hard, and as up -stuck as a hop-] 3 ole, 
but he^s as honest as the day. If he guessed Mr. Markus 
game as I do, lieM be off' with him in an hour.-’^ 

Whereas the motive cried Tom. AVhy should he 
want to injure me? I am out of his way already.'’^ 

But you ahiT beyond calling back again into his way,'’ ^ 
said Moore, ‘‘ and he means to drive you.'’^ 

It was sufficiently unnatural if it were true, and yet in 
one way it was natural enough. Tom^s heart was turned 
to suspicion by Baretti, and if he really began to suspect, 
he felt that he would be dangerous. It is not easy for any 
man to hold possession of himself when he has been robbed 
of love, good fame, and fortune, and the youngster was not 
the Tom Carroll of old days. 

Say no more,^^ he said, waving his hand against the 
farmer. I can'’t afford to believe it. If I knew for cer- 
tain that your suspicions were true, I couldnT trust myself. 
And I am ill-tempered and vile-hearted enough to believe 
them. Give me a glass of milk, Moore, there^s a good fel- 
low, and I '’11 get back home.'’^ 

Strike that gong on the table, sir,^^ said the farmer,, 
and Tom obeying this injunction, Azubah came into the 
room. 

Do you want anything, father 

Mr. Thomas would like a glass of milk, my dear,'’^ said 
the farmer. 

‘‘ And, Miss Moore, said Tom, if you wouldnT mind 
taking the trouble to bring me one of those crisp little rolls, 
I should be much obliged. I think there'’s something un- 
usual in the air down here that gives one a most extraordi- 
nary appetite.'’'’^ 

He was so j^oor a pretender, and so unused to lying even 
in the mildest way, that he boggled over this simple sen- 
tence, and the farmer looked at him with more than his. 
common keenness; first he glanced at his fingers and looked 


HEAETS: QUEEIT, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 221 

at the rings there, and next his gaze went to the visitor's 
watch chain. 

Be as good as to tell me the time, Mr. Thomas,^"" he 
said, when the girl had done. Tom drew out a handsome 
watch and answered him. The farmer laboriously set his 
own to the time indicated, and Azubah returned with the 
roll and the milk. Her father made a faint and scarcely 
perceptible motion with his head, and those supernaturally 
bright eyes of his. She caught the gesture and retired 
again. Mr. Thomas,^ ^ he said, when they were once 
more alone, I^’m ashamed to ask you, after all the fa- 
vors yoiTve done me, but can you make it convenient to 
lend me a five-pound note until to-morrow? ITl post it 
first thing in the morning without fail.-^^ 

I^m very sorry,^^ said Tom, I havenT got it with me. 
I can send you one this evening.'’^ 

Never mind, sir, thank you,^^ said the farmer. It^s 
not a pressing thing. I must wait until to-morrow. 

No, no,^^ said Tom, you shall have it.^^ 

It^s very good of you, Mr. Thomas,^^ returned the 
farmer, falling back in his arm-chair with a singular air of 
relief. It^s only a matter of four-and-twenty hours with 
me at the outside. The shop^s doing splendidly, and I 
donH know that ever we were better off than we are now. 
We shall be paying our debt to you, Mr. Thomas, almost 
directly. 

Thank you,^^ said Tom. Make it convenient to 
yourself, Moore. 

Take another roll, sir,^^ said the farmer. It’s a. 
goodish step up to your part of the town, and I reckon it’s 
an hour or two from your dinner hour yet, isn’t it? You 
can easy spoil your dinner by going too long without it.” 

Thanks,” said Tom, I’ll take another. What 
charming butter you have here. And the bread is excel- 
lent.” 

Hunger’s a fine sauce, Mr. Thomas,” said the farmer,, 
and looking keenly at his guest, he saw a disconcerted look 
upon his face, and half a Wush that overspread its pallor. 
Tom called for his second roll, and dispatched it together 
with another glass of milk, and the two were silent. 

I’ll go now, Moore,” he said rising, and whisking 
away imaginary crumbs with his silk handkerchief. I 


222 HEAKTS: qUEBNy KiiTAVE^ AIS'D DEUCE. 

have business to do. You shall have that to-night. 1^11 
send a commissionaire with it.'’^ 

Thank you kindly, Mr. Thomas/^ said the other, 
shaking the proffered hand. His eyes lost the keenness 
which had commonly belonged to them since his disaster, 
and their shrewd suspicions melted almost into tears. 

God bless you,^'’ he said, as he dropped Tom^s hand, I 
donT believe a better man ever broke bread/ ^ 

Tom laughed uneasily, and with a farewell wave of the 
hand was gone. The farmer sat with bent head for a min- 
ute or two, and then suddenly smiting the table with his 
clinched hand, he half rose in his chair and fell back in a 
spasm of pain. 

No good to anybody,^ ^ he muttered. If IM got ten 
thousand pounds, Fd give a thousand of it to be able to 
follow him and put the other nine thousand in his hands. 
The pride of the place! The pride of the place! As hand- 
some a lad as you 11 see in a summer ^s day, and as good as 
you 11 find in a yeaFs journey !^^ 

Tom Carroll walked so slowly from South London to 
AVest London that it was dark long before his arrival there. 
He went irresolutely, and lingered at one or two corners 
looking about him with a furtive air, which became him ill 
indeed. Once or twice he seemed to form a sudden resolve 
and hurried on decidedly, but his step slackened again, and 
again he lingered at corners, or stared in at jeweler^s shop 
windows. At last he went hrriedly into a by-street and 
almost ran through a darkened door- way, cannoning against 
an ill-dressed, slatternly woman who bore a large parcel in 
her arms. 

For two or three minutes a figure had dogged him at a 
little distance. It waited now in the shadow of the by- 
street, and when he emerged from the darkened door-way 
followed him. He was like a man who had committed a 
crime and feared detection, glancing suspiciously right and 
left as he went, but he never looked behind and never saw 
the shadow in his rear. At his own door- way the shadow 
caught him and laid a hand upon him. 

Oh!’^ he said, starting, as he turned, Is that you, 
Baretti?^^ 

Yes,"’^ said Baretti, it is I. 

Tom began to talk of nothing as they walked upstairs, 
but Baretti spoke not a word until the two turned into 


hearts: QUEEi^r, kkave, and deuce. 223 ^ 

Tom^s sitting-room. Then he silently lit the gas and closed 
the door and then turned upon his friend. Tom, looking: 
at him, saw that his face was gray and that his eyes were 
full of tears. 

Carroll, said the little man, with a shaky, husky 
voice, it was here — in this room — that I told you all my 
troubles, and you relieved them. You were rich and pros-^ 
perous, and I was poor and broken. We were not quite 
friends in those days — almost strangers — and you were 
angry that I had not spoken of my troubles sooner. And 
now, -when you saved my life, and gave me hope again and 
made a man of me, and we are brothers in heart and soul,, 
you can be poor, and you can let me be rich and prosper- 
ous and never speak a word. Is it friendly, Carroll? Is 
it just to me? Ah, Carroll, you love your pride better 
than you love your friend. 

Why, Baretti, old fellow, cried Tom, lamely, what^s^ 
all this about ?^^ 

You do not care for me,^^ said the painter, or you 
would not pretend like this, Mr. Carroll. He paused for 
an instant, and advancing, took Tom^s hands in both his. 

I have been behind you this last half hour. You have 
come to your last pound, and you have found my old nais- 
erable refuge. No, no, no. Why should you be ashanaed 
or angry that I know it?^^ 

Tom walked doggedly into the next room, and the little 
man followed him. His voice was altogether broken when 
he spoke again. 

It is unjust, Mr. Carroll, it is unjust.^^ Tom stretched 
out a reluctant hand toward him backward, and Baretti 
clasped it. 

Don^t make me break down, old fellow, the young-^ 
ster said, with a half -hysterical laugh. I^ve been through 
a good deal of worry lately, but I should like to keep a stiff 
upper lip through it all.”‘ 

But two slight meals of bread and milk in four days da 
not furnish the best diet in the world for a many's nerves to 
be steady on, underpressure of this sort, and with Baretti^s 
tears upon his hand, the hopeless lad turned, and casting- 
his free arm upon the mantel-shelf dropped his head upon 
it and cried outright. And, bitterly as his own tears 
shamed him, there was no shame in them, for it was not 
his unhappiness that made them flow, nor any cowardly 


224 HEAKTS: QUEEN, KNAYE, AND DEUCE. 

pity for himsolf, but the sacred hand of sympathy that 
broke their fountain's stubborn seal. 


CHAPTEE XXII. 

In his native county Tom Carroll had by this time some- 
thing of a Bluebeard reputation, and he became an almost 
proverbial illustration what a young man might become by 
laying himself out to be wicked. To have cleared himself 
publicly of tlie charge publicly brought against him' went 
for nothing. Young Mr. CarrolFs conduct, it was gener- 
ally admitted, must have been a terrible blow to his father, 
and a great deal of sympathy was expended on the elder 
OarrolPs woes. Markus chastened grief over his cousin^s 
fall from the heights of virtue was noticeable and worthy 
of notice, and the mild hopes Mark nourished for Tom^s 
final reformation were supposed to do credit to his better 
nature. 

The soil of human intelligence would seem to favor the 
growth of fallacies, but to be virtuous is not necessarily to 
be happy, and to be wicked is not necessarily to be un- 
happy. Conscience, popularly supposed to be a sentry, is 
so untrustworthy that he will go to sleep on guard unless 
you watch him keenly; so that he is most active (like other 
troublesome functionaries) when least needed. To speak 
of conscience assailing some men except in death ^s-bed fear 
or like cases is to talk nonsense. It has long been a cant 
of criticism that this or that villain of fiction is made 
credible by humanizing touches, and we are told that there 
are no men who have not some redeeming virtue. Shake- 
speare thought otherwise, and drew one or two wholesale 
villains who had no good points about them, but he had no 
concern with humanitarian crotchets, and was satisfied to 
paint men as he saw them. It is a far cry from the intel- 
lectual and social level of lago to that of Bill Sykes, but 
higher than either, and lower than either, and in all the 
countless grades between, there are men who share their 
spirit. 

It is not in the least to be supposed that Mark Carroll 
was unhappy because he was a very finished rascal. If he 
bit the kind hand that had often fed him, he knew all 
about gratitude, and had exercised it so long as it had been 


hearts: queek, khave, and deuce. 


S25 


useful to hini;, and his conscience (if he had a conscience) 
approved his action. If he lied for his own advancement 
he did it cleverly^ and his lies passed for truths and success 
was satisfying. To have been a stupid scoundrel would 
have been criminal^ but to be a clever one carried credit 
with it, and not blame. It was the shameless saying of a 
great man that a blunder was worse than a crime. Mark 
carried that creed further, and in his philosophy the only 
possible crime was a blunder. 

He lived in clover at Trench House — was flush of money 
and had crowds of friends. In the house Tom^s name 
was never mentioned, but outside he heard it often, and 
his attitude toward his cousin was always beautiful. 

No, no, no,^^ Mark would say when people expressed 
their sentiments about Tom. Even the general enemy 
is admitted to be less black than he^s painted. And, hang 
it all! people talk as if a young fellow never kicked over 
the traces before. And come now, I put it to you — Don^t 
you think that Tom came out of that libel case very well, 
all things considered? Ifll tell you what it is. Taking it 
altogether, I think my cousin Tom has been confoundedly 
ill-used. Lots of fellows have done the same thing in hot 
youth, and have settled down into respectable church-going 
citizens afterward; and the chances are ten thousand to 
one that Tom will do it, if he only gets the chance, poor 
fellow. But just because he^s run a bit wild everybody's 
down on him like a hammer, and I^m sorry for him — 
downright sorry, by gad, I am!^^ 

It is a curious provision of nature which fits every animal 
to his surroundings. The arctic bear grows white, tlie 
grasshopper is of the color, of the field, fish take the tint of 
their river bottom, and a persistent liar comes to believe in 
himself. 

It may be noticed that Markus conversational style had 
adapted itself or been adapted to that role of genial allow- 
ance which he played. Without actually sinking to the 
level of unsuspicious stupidity, it had fallen from its 
habitual height of cynical cleverness, and there was some- 
thing half bucolic in his very manner. Of course he knew 
at bottom exactly what a pretender he was, but he had 
reached the persistent liar^s bourn of vague belief for all 
that, and had touches of indignation and pity when he pre- 
tended to have them. Without something of the imagina- 


226 HEABTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AKD BEtJCE. 

tive and self -projective power of an actor or a poet it is 
impossible to be a good liar. The simulation of the emo- 
tions awakens — not precisely the emotions themselves^ 
perhaps, but — an artistic, thin reflex of them, and this it 
was which glowed in the bosom of Cousin Mark, and gave 
his speeches an air of reality when he talked of Tom. But 
when Mr. Irving leaves the stage, though he has probably 
suffered all the woes of the' Prince of Denmark, and has 
broken the recorders with some approach to real pas- 
sion, he has no grudge against Eosencrantz and Guilclen- 
stern, and nurses no special brotherly affection for Horatio. 
The woes, so keenly felt that you and I have thrilled at 
them, are packed away with the wardrobe of the tragic 
prince, and the great actor sups — if he takes supper — and 
blissfully forgets them all. 

Mark .used to watch within himself the workings of this 
singular natural process, and used to extract amusement 
and philosophical ediflcation from it; but to be unhappy, 
and about his own conduct, so long as it prospered, never 
entered his mind. 

But whilst he went on in glowing ease of mind and con- 
stant comfort, there was trouble brewing for him in a quar- 
ter he had forgotten to think about. The charming sign- 
ora was once more out of employment. 

It was characteristic. of the signora that she felt Markus 
desertion less bitterly and hated him less intensely for it 
when she was prosperous than whilst she was poor. As a 
matter of fact, thousands of women have committed mur- 
der on precisely the signora^s provocation, and there w^ere 
many times when she felt murderous; times at which she 
would actually have put an end to Mark if he had been in 
her way. At these moments she would not have paused to 
think of results, but she thought about them afterward, 
when the lit of rage had passed, and told herself philo- 
sophically that the game was not worth the candle. Only 
— if she could but catch him on the hip — if she could but 
see her way to a vengeance that would not be too dangerous 
to herself — His violent death at her hands would leave a 
ghost behind, and that would be too much to dare. 

The Garrick was closed, and , no new opening declared 
itself. Whilst her engagement had lasted she had a little 
more money than she needed, and what was over and above 
her wants she saved. For a week or two she made applica- 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


227 


tions hopefully, whenever she saw a chance, and then for a 
week or two despondingly. She was fast sliding back into 
that condition from which Tom Carroll had rescued her; 
and all her hope deferred, and all the rebuffs she met, and 
all the misery she dreaded, went naturally to swell Markus 
account and to feed the flame of her hatred for him. If 
anything had occurred to make her independent of the 
world, she would still have gone on hating him*, but less 
flercely. She might in a year or two have sunk into a 
mere contempt for him; but care coming, and hunger 
looking near, she set them all down to him, and her hate 
burned hotly against him. 

She had invested a good deal of her small salary in what 
Mr. Vemmick called portable property,^ ^ and now she 
began to find her way to the pawnbroker's, poor thing! 

If we reserved all our pity for those people who are 
pleasant and good, we should have to restrict our sympa- 
thies terribly. 

. In these straits, and before she reached them, she had 
often thought of applying to Mr, Bethesda, who might, 
for all she knew, be ready to start, or preparing to start, 
another theatrical enterprise. But she did not like Mr. 
Bethesda. She had not been bred to be a squeamish 
woman, but she had — as everybody has — her own moral 
code, and Mr. Bethesda fell short of it. She had had ex- 
perience of Mr. Bethesda behind the scenes, and that good 
man's affections for the sex at large had sickened her. 
Beggars, however, can not be choosers, and at last she 
sought the residence of the late manager of the Garrick. 
That gentleman's influence with the brethren had alto- 
gether fallen away from a variety of causes, amongst them 
being the establishment of a Bible class for ladies of the 
ballet. No man can escape calumny, and the brethren 
had cut Mr. Bethesda from their communion. 

The signora walked all the way from her lodgings to Mr. 
Bethesda's house, and rang the good man's bell. The 
good man himself answered to her summons and gave her 
a fatherly welcome. He had a rare eye for a good-looking 
woman, and his tastes were, catholic. 

Tell me, sare," said the signora, is ze Garrick again 
to be open?" 

I can't say," returned Mr. Bethesda. If I could 


228 


hearts: queek^ khaye^ ahd deuce. 


find the money I should like to take the house myself. 
You are looking for an engagement, my dear?^^ 

I am looking for engagement/'’ said the signora. 

Well, my dear, said Mr. Bethesda, smiling and father- 
like, a, handsome young ladylike you should find that 
very easy. 

It is not easy,^^ said the signora, smiling also. Can 
you tell me where to go?'’^ If one had any hope of getting 
anything from Mr. Bethesda, she knew better than to try 
to get it by wearing a sad face in his presence. 

Pray sit down,'’^ said Mr. Bethesda, and let us talk 
things over. ^ He placed a chair for the signora and set 
another at the side of it. She took her seat and he took 
his. It is to be regretted, he said, that Mr. CarrolPs 
enterprise at the Garrick broke down so soon.'’^ He took 
the signora ^s unresisting hand. ‘‘ Much to be regretted. 

Very much,^^ said the signora, in her pretty foreign 
English. 

‘^But poor Mr. Carroll, continued Bethesda, slowly 
and distinctly so that the lady should understand him and 
not get tired of his gossip too quickly, was very extrava- 
gant, and is. quite ruined, I am sorry to say.’’^ 

Poor young man,^^ said the lady, her fingers itching to 
smack Mr. Bethesda^ s smile. 

‘‘Poor young man, indeed, said Mr. Bethesda. “I 
suppose you knew him very well?^'’ The signora shook 
her head. “ ISTo?^^ asked Bethesda, smiling again. “ You 
came to the theater like an old friend. 

“ I knew him,^^ said the signora, “ a leetle. Very leetle. 
I had seen him two zree times. 

“ Was that all, indeed?'’'’ asked the late manager, still 
holding her hand and bending forward as he spoke. “ May 
I ask where you saw him — how you came to know him?^'’ 

“ He come to my husband'’ s house, '’^ said the signora. 
“ My husband was the great tenor. Signor Malfi. He 
would come to my husband^ s house with Mr. Marco Car- 
roll. Do you know Mr. Marco?^^ 

The signora was the picture of innocence. She was ap- 
parently unaware of Mr. Bethesda ^s possession of her hand, 
or it might have been an every-day thing to talk in that at- 
titude; and her mention of Mark was made in the most 
indifferent manner in the world, though she was unaware 
of a little inward tremor as she made it. The tremor in 


hearts: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


229 


degree was not unlike that a maiden experiences when she 
thinks of her lover in lovers early days. In kind it bore a 
resemblance, for extremes meet, and hate and loye are not 
always perfect opposites. 

Slightly^^"" said Bethesda, edging his chair a little 
nearer. Poor Mr. CarrolPs fortune has all fallen into 
Mr. Markus hands. 

Ah!""^ said the signora. How?^^ 

Mr. Bethesda related what he knew, and in the course of 
his narrative got his chair nearer still and set an arm about 
the signora'’ s waist. The lady, anxious to hear all, made 
no objection to his overtures, though her fingers tingled 
more than ever. 

And is Mr. Mark,^^ she said, catching: at the English 
form of the name with difficulty — is Mr. Mark a very 
good young man?^^ Bethesda had just told her for what 
Tom had been dismissed by his father. 

I believe,^ ^ said Bethesda, that Mr. Mark is a very 
good young man indeed. Mr. Mark is quite a guileless 
person, so I am informed.'’^ 

And is Mr. Carroll so very good also?^^ asked the sign- 
ora. 

“ Oh,^^ said Bethesda, smilingly, Mr. Carroll is quite 
a stern, unappeasable Eoman-father-sort of person. The 
signora did not understand all this, but she caught the 
tone, and nodded with an answering smile. Bethesda, 
who was in quite a lover-like posture by this time, thought 
the smile an odd one, and felt disconcerted by it. 

And,^^ said the signora, still smiling, if Mr. Carroll 
heard bad things of Mr. Mark he would send him away 
also?^^ 

I should think so,^^ said Bethesda. 

Oh, dear me!^^ said the signora in her pretty foreign 
manner. What a hard work to be forever so good young 
man! Where does he live, this good young man? The old 
one, is he very rich?^^ 

Very!^^ said Bethesda. 

Where^does he live?^^ asked the signora again. 

Mr. Bethesda told her what he knew, and made tender 
play with his hands in the meantime, squeezing the sign- 
ora^ s hand and waist. She might have been a lay figure, 
she took all this so quietly; but when he had spoken she 
rose and disengaged herself. 


230 HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

I shall go now,^"" she said. If you hear of aiiyzing, 
will you let me know, zare?^^ 

Mr. Bethesda, protesting that he would, advanced with 
the obvious intention of kissing the signora. Her previous 
acquiescence in the good man^s tender approaches might 
have encouraged one much more bashful than Bethesda, 
and it was a surprise to him when, as he smilingly proffered 
his salute, the signora slapped his face. It was not the 
encouraging sort of box on the ear with which some ladies 
beckon on their lovers, but laid on with a quick and heavy 
hand. The wooer was so staggered by it, mentally, and 
for a few seconds his head rang so, that he let the lady go 
without a word in answer to her cool Good-day. 

When he followed the signora was already in the street. 
She smiled and nodded at him across her shoulder, and 
went her way, leaving the good man in a state of some de- 
pression and bewilderment. She, on the other hand wore 
an expression altogether different from that with which she 
had approached Mr. Bethesda^ s house. Her head was 
erect, her step elastic, her eyes smiled, and there was a fine 
glow of color on her southern cheek. For she saw clear 
before her what she had longed for many and many a weary 
day, and she marched to it as a hungry man walks to a 
well-furnished table. If the elder Carroll had dismissed 
his only son on grounds so slight, he would be scarcely 
likely to have mercy on a nephew against whom she could 
prove so much. She would go down and denounce Mark 
and rejoice in his ruin. It would be cheaper than killing 
him (that was altogether too fearful a joy for her to dare 
to snatch it — she h^ thought of it too long), and it would 
be a vengeance more complete and lasting. With all her 
hunger of hate for Mark she had a sense of justice too. 
To her mind, naturally enough, Mark was the greatest 
villain in the world, and she could conceive of nothing 
worthy to be matched with his perfidy. The signora was a 
simple-minded person, and did not bother herself with in- 
tellectual subtleties of any sort, or she might have called to 
mind the fact that if anybody else luul suffered, by it she 
would have thought Markus perfidy a trifle. But your 
tooth-ache is always worse (to you) than mine; and I am 
never so persuaded of the solemnity of the problem 2)re- 
sented for solution by the criminal classes as I am when I 
discover that my pocket has been picked. That which is 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKH DEUCE. 231 

nearest touches us inost^, and our own affairs are generally 
closer to us than those of other people. 

It never occurred to her how easily Mark might turn her 
attack, or how hard it might be to get into places in which 
her denunciation of him would serve her turn. She walked 
on full of hate and hope, thinking of her monetary re- 
sources, and planning to sell this and the other lately ac- 
quired bit of finery, to make a purse for the journey. Be- 
yond her revenge her thoughts did not carry her, and this 
alone might have seemed to make her dangerous if Mark 
had known of it. For without one conscious thought 
about the matter she was burning her boats, and if Mark 
could parry the one attack she had in mind that momentary 
success would make things worse for him. 

The signora ^s walk had given her an appetite, which she 
was disposed to fight for economy's sake. She was dread- 
fully thirsty also, and the sight of a dairy shop, exquisitely 
clean and neat in its arrangements, was pleasant to her. 
A glass of milk would at once assuage thirst and fortify 
her system, whilst it would only cost a penny. So the sign- 
ora entered, and found herself face to face with Azubah 
Moore, who was tranquilly stitching away with a book in 
her lap behind the white-scoured counter, with its clean 
glasses and glittering measures. 

My dear!^^ said the signora, in pleased amazement, 

how do you do?' 

Azubah, with no very exuberant professions of delight, 
arose and shook hands with her. The signora began to 
question and to chatter in her foreign lively way, and liquid 
foreign English. Had Azubah taken a place here? Had 
she determined to sing no more? How had she been doing, 
and what had she been doing since the signora had 
last seen her? Azubah answered quietly that this was her 
father ^s shop, that she was still studying music, and that 
she was very well indeed. The Italian woman got her 
glass of milk, and sat down at the counter to talk. She 
had tried to befriend Azubah, and that for one thing made 
her feel friendly; and in the time of her beginning of dis- 
tress Azubah had been sympathetic. Altogether the sign- 
ora was delighted at this encounter, and for the moment 
she forgot her hatred, and her heart rested.' She chatted 
about her troubles, and told how poor she had been when 
she obtained an engagement at the Garrick and how kind- 


232 HEAMs: akd deuce. 

ly tlie lessee had behaved to her. It was natural that she 
should be pleased to boast an acquaintance with the lessee^ 
whom she had known in her better days^ before Tito went 
mad and mistrusted her. 

He is ruin^ now/^ said the signora, and I am sorry. 
He was never wise, but he was good and nice. It was sad 
for him that he should ever go to the Megatherium that 
night you sung there. 

Why?'’^ asked Azubah. 

The whole truth, or very nearly the whole truth, came 
out. The signora had told the tale pretty often already to 
her fellow chorus-singers at the Garrick since the beginning 
of the libel proceedings, and the first renewed allusion to 
the leading article in The Mirror. But Azubah had 
never seen The Mirror, and had never heard a word of 
Mr. Mosses action for assault until this moment. She had 
many and many a time thought of Tom Carroll as he had 
stepped in between that terrible little Hebrew and herself, 
and had remembered how noble he had looked, and with 
what strength and courage he had acted. Tom himself had 
never been proud of having thrown Mr. Moss down-stairs, 
but Azubah had looked on the deed with reverent admira- 
tion, and had never dreamed that such awful consequences 
could grow out of it. She began to feel as if she personally 
were responsible for the ruin which had fallen upon Tom 
Carroll, and so much worship and gratitude and pity filled 
her heart that it felt like to break. She clasped her hands 
and cried out more than half unconsciously: 

Mr. Mark was there! Oh, why couldnT he tell his 
uncle how it happened? He would know.everything.'^^ 

Ah, my dear, said the signora, nodding her head three 
or four times. Mr. Mark is going to have the fortune. 
He will do anything to harm his cousin. 

Oh, I am sure you are wrong, cried the girl. I have 
known him since I was quite a little child. 

I have known him, too,^^ said the signora. I know 
many things of him. He is bad man, my dear. There is 
no man more bad in England. I know. I know. I 
know.^^ 

How do you know?^^ asked Azubah. How can you 
know?^"" 

‘‘ My business!^^ said the signora, smiling. I know.^^ 
She nodded her head again, two or three times, in a curi- 


HEARTS: QUEEK^ KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 


233 


oiisly threatening way, which the girl was altogether at a 
loss to understand. He is very happy now, Mistare Mark. 
Very well. Wait. A week. Hot more than a week.'’ ^ 

With this she laid a penny upon the counter, which the 
girl pushed back again. The signora was not above econ- 
omy at this time, and returned the coin to her purse with 
another nod and a strange smile. She kissed Azubah 
across the counter, and said Good-bye, and walked off 
toward her vengeance. When you love or hate, the whole 
world is naturally full of the object of your thoughts, and 
it did not at all surprise her to find two people on one day 
who made Mark the theme of their talk. 

Azubah, sitting with idle hands from which her work had 
fallen, thought over the revelation the signora had brought 
her. Unstinted admiration and profound pity were in her 
heart, and when a girl begins to lavish these two upon a 
young man, it is easy to guess on what road she is travel- 
ing. Azubah had not far to travel, but she was a stranger 
to the road, and did not recognize the bourn that lay be- 
fore her. 


OHAPTEE XXIII. 

Moore received the five-pound note he had asked for 
and sent back another in exchange for it. It soothed him 
to get it, for he had guessed the truth about Tom^s finan- 
cial position, and now he was sure that his guesses had been 
mistaken, or had, at least, flown further than the mark. 

Tom, of course, if he had had the choice, would rather 
have died than have broken down as he did in Baretti^’s 
presence, but his break-down did him good after all. Lord- 
ing seemed fairly estranged now. Mary sent him no mes- 
sage of hope; he was ruined and ever3^body knew it; he had 
even got bread this last two days by a subterfuge of which 
— though it was not very shameful — he felt ashamed. Be- 
thesda found a curious difficulty in realizing the properties 
at the Garrick, which might at least have staved off star- 
vation for a month or two. They had cost two or three 
thousand pounds, and were worth something still, and the 
unexpired lease of the theater was supposed to be worth a 
thousand, yet he could not touch a penny piece. But it 
was Baretti^’s friendship, and not these things, grievous as 


234 HEAliTS: QUEEN^ K^TAVE;, AND DEUCE. 

they were^ which broke the youiigster^s self-restraint and 
gave him the blessed relief of tears. 

He was less ashamed of himself than he would have been 
if he had cried in the presence of an Englishman^ and Ba- 
retti saw nothing shameful in the whole matter^, but wiped 
his own eyes unaffectedly, and without any attempt at the 
disguise of Dis emotions. Tom pushed him from the room, 
and being alone, pulled himself together and cleared away 
the traces of his tears. Then, with a guilty air, half hang- 
dog and half defiant, he rejoined the little Italian and be- 
gan to smoke moodily. 

Carroll,^^ said the painter, let us talk of your affairs. 
Tom puffed away with an expression almost sullen. You 
will finish Opera number two?^^ 

I donT know,^^ said Tom. “ I think I shall go and 
fiddle in the streets. I suppose one could make a living 
that way if it is worth while making a living at all. I^m 
not quite sure that it is.'^^ 

“ My troubles were less than yours, said Baretti, but 
it was you who taught me how to live them down. You 
will teach yourself the same lesson. You are too proud to 
let any man say that you gave up the fi^ht because it went 
against you. 

Tom sm#ked on and gave no sign of having heard this, 
but it was put in just the right way to touch him, and when 
Baretti had kept silence for a minute or two the young fel- 
low rose and shook himself. 

^‘Nobody shall say I threw iii^ the sponge,^ Mie said, 
doggedly. No, ITl fight till I go under, for good and 
all.^^ 

I know that,^^ said Baretti. it is your nature. You 
can not help fighting in such a case. Let us lay the plan 
of the campaign. In the first place, Carroll, the painter 
rose to say this, and, with liis old gesture, laid both hands 
on his friend^ s shoulders and looked u]^ into his face, his 
own lambent eyes agleam with affection and appeal — in 
the first ]3lace, Carroll, there is to be no more of to-nighEs 
Avork as long as there is a pound at the bank belonging to 
either of us.'^^ 

I canT be dependent upon you, Baretti,^^ returned 
Tom. 

No,^^ said Baretti, you love your pride better than 
you love me. BetAveen friends, there is no giving and tak- 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


235 


ing — everything is in common. Understand, Carroll. 
Whatever is mine is yours, and if you do not take it at your 
need we are not friends any longer, and you are a humbug 
and a pretender and no true man and honest gentleman. 
If you refuse me I swear to Heaven I will draw every penny 
I have and throw it in the Thames, and never speak to 
you again. 

Tom laughed at th^ singular resolution, in a forced and 
unreal way, but he took the two hands Baretti stretched 
out in appeal and shook them both. 

Very well,""^ he said, we won^t put you to such ex- 
tremities as that. I can make a living, and there is some- 
thing to come out of the. fire yet. And perhaps in the end 
even my father may come to reason. 

He will never come to reason whilst your cousin Mark 
is at Trench House, said Baretti. I speak in kindness, 
Carroll. Cherish no delusive hopes. In the pursuit of 
art there is a future before you, but you must not demor- 
alize yourself by fancies which are doomed beforehand to 
disappointment. Mark is your enemy, Carroll. 

DonT talk of my cousin Mark in that way,^^ said 
Tom. I am getting a little tired of these charges against 
my cousin Mark. I never knew an honester fellow in my 
life, and IWe suffered something from scandal on my own 
side, and I wonT listen to it.-’^ 

Well,^^ said Baretti, there are plenty of assurances 
of Markus friendship in his own handwriting in that writ- 
ing-desk of yours, and you have come to a time when you 
may very fairly try them. Then suppose you see your 
cousin Mark and put him to the test. He will not part 
with a penny for your sake.'’^ 

I sha^n^t ask him,"’"’ said Tom, shortly. 

At the bottom of your heart you know him as well as 
I do,^^ cried Baretti. 

A little better, Tom answered. 

You dare not ask him,^^ said the painter, with his 
chands abroad. You dread lest he should prove a vil- 
lain.''^ 

I know perfectly well,^^ said Tom, that he would 
prove nothing of the sort.^^ 

He knows of your losses by the newspapers, said Ba- 
retti, declaiming indignantly, and does he write from the 
home he usurps to offej’ you a helping hand? Why does he 


236 hearts: queek, kkave, and deuce. 

pretend to be advancing your cause?^^ he demanded, with 
a sudden coldness of voice, and eyes half closed. ‘‘ Be- 
cause he is jDlotting behind your back, and wishes not to be 
suspected. Who set that libel about? Who but your cousin 
Mark? Carroll — I am indignant at your infatuation!^^ 
Baretti,^^ said Tom, moved by several contradictory 
emotions which he did not care just then to analyze, I 
will disprove this foolish charge of vours, before I begin to 
be ass enough to believe in it. I will go down and see 
Mark, and tell him what a hole I am in, and you shall see 
how he will act.^^ After all Tom would rather borrow of 
Mark, with whom he had been like a brother all his life, 
than even of Baretti, and Mark,, in point of fact, owed him 
a good few hundreds, and would only be repaying a little 
out of his abundance. That was one reflection. Another, 
which was in flat contradiction to it, was, that he would like 
to be sure of Cousin Mark, and in a certain case to have it 
oitt with him ; and yet another was that he had it in his 
power to clear Markus character from an aspersion even 
viler than any that had been cast upon his own. 

He sat down and wrote a brief note to Mark, telling him 
that two days later he would be at the Hinge’s Arms Hotel, 
in the county town, and would be greatly obliged if Mark 
would meet him there. There could surely be no shame in 
asking Mark, to whom he had lent so much, to restore a 
little of it, and yet the impracticable, unpractical young 
man blushed as he wrote, and had more than half a mind 
to throw the note into the Are. "Wishing it unwritten, and 
feeling sore with himself for having at last taken up Ba- 
retti^s challenge, he walked out with the painter and 
dropped his letter into a postal pillar, and then returning, 
penciled a few lines to Moore, inclosed the promised flve 
pounds with them in an envelope, found a commissionaire, 
dispatched him, and went to supper. 

He thought it curious, now that he had money to sup 
elsewhere, that he could And the heart to order the meal at 
home again. He had paid two months^ rent in advan^je 
to oblige his landlady long ago, and had always kept in ad- 
vance afterward — after his own business fashion, which 
was to pay everybody twice over if possible — and he had 
not felt afraid to occupy the rooms for a week or two, but 
he had not been able to And courage to order so much as a 
breakfast since his pockets were enaptied. But now he be- 


hearts: qijeek^ kkaye^ akd deuce. 237 

gan to be a little hopeful again. Mark would let him 
have fifty pounds at leasts and he would make that last 
him for three or four months by dint of strict economy. In 
the meantime Bethesda could be pricked into action^ and 
the theatrical properties and the lease must go at a sacri- 
fice. Then he would be out of harm^s way, and could at 
least dine every afternoon, whilst he wrote Opera number 
two, or took to playing at concerts, or gave lessons, or pre- 
pared to hold body and soul together in some way. It did 
not seem very well worth while to hold body and soul to- 
gether under the conditions, apart from the fighting in- 
stinct in him. 

On the following evening he took train to the county 
town, and got as far as Birmingham without adventure. 
At the railway station there an odd thing happened, for he 
ran full against Signor Malfi, who was walking along the 
platform at a great pace, talking volubly in his native lan- 
guage to a bearded friend. Tom^s wonder at his presence 
there was dissipated by the sight of a placard on which were 
blazoned in red and black letters the words, Theater 
Eoyal. Italian Opera. Beyond a doubt the signor was 
there in a professional capacity. The Englishman looked 
absently after him, and noticed something peculiar in 
his gait — a swift, sidelong motion of the body, and a cer- 
tain set carriage of the head — as if the signor were anxious 
for what he was saying to be heard, and at the same time 
anxious to keep an eye on some person ahead. The beard- 
ed man got into the train, Malfi shook hands with him at 
the window, and Tom forgot all about them. His own 
affairs were enough for him to think about just then. 

He passed a restless night, and on the morrow he got up 
and awaited Mark. Mark did not appear, having other fish 
to fry at this juncture. 

The village of Overhill was a little startled and surprised 
by the sudden appearance in its midst of a nameless young 
woman, gorgeously appareled and of evident foreign ex- 
traction. She did not seem to know anybody in the place, 
and did not seem to have any business there. So far as 
she spoke English at all, she spoke it fluently (though ac- 
cent and idiom were alike foreign enough to be remarkable 
in so small a place as Overhill), but the speech of the na- 
tives seemed altogether incomprehensible to her. The peo- 
ple at the inn had at first been inclined to refuse her sleep- 


238 


HEARTS: QUEEH, EKAYE, AKB BETJCE. 


ing-room^ for she had no luggage, hut she had smilingly 
set down a soyereign as guarantee for her own good inten- 
tions. 

The foreign lady discovered that Trench House was the 
residence of Mr. Carroll. She ascertained also, in spite of 
the conversational difficulties which beset her, that Mr. 
CarrolFs nephew, Mr. Mark, was at this time staying at 
Overhill, and she manifested a good deal of interest in tlie 
house arid grounds. On the evening of her arrival she en- 
tered the private grounds of Trench House — the lodge gates 
being open and unguarded — and sat for half an hour on a 
rustic bench which commanded a view of the illuminated 
windows of the dining-room. There were two people at 
table, an elderly man and a young one, and a butler, rather 
sturdier and broader-shouldered than his tribe commonly 
are, stood at the side-board, or occasionally moved about 
the room in the discharge of his functions. So far as the 
foreign young person could observe, the younger man was 
exceeding deferential to the elder. When she had sat 
out her half hour or thereabouts, she arose and walked 
back down the gravel drive, and through the lodge gates, 
still unnoticed, and returned to the village inn. 

Naturally, all her points were canvassed that evening in 
the bar-room, and the station-master, who happened to be 
present, contributed to the discussion the fact that a beard- 
ed person who spoke imperfect English had arrived by the 
same train, and watched the foreign lady into the little 
omnibus of the inn with obvious interest, had dispatched a 
curiously worded telegram, and after lingering on the sta- 
tion platform for a couple of hours had gone back again 
without the transaction of any business whatever. The 
telegram had been written in Italian, and had contained 
three words only — She is here.-^^ The station-master, 
making a shot at the meaning of the first word, supposed 
the lady^s name to be Ella, but declined on professional 
grounds to reveal the nature of the message. He was 
pretty sure, however, that the bearded personas sole busi- 
ness was to watch the lady and to see where she alighted. 
He was- the more confirmed in his belief by the fact that 
the bearded person had arrived at Overhill without a ticket 
from the county town, and had paid the fare on arrival. 

Not to be unbearably mysterious, the foreign lady was 
no other than the charming signora, and the bearded 2)er- 


HEARTS: QUEEK„ KNAVE^, AND DEUCE. 239 

son was actually a friend of Malfi^s engaged in the same 
company^ but out of the cast for that particular day. 

When Signor Malfi got down to Birmingham he knew 
vaguely that he was nearer Mr. Mark Carrolks abidi]>g- 
place than he had been when in London. Hate is just as 
good as love for keeping the object of it before the mind^s 
eye^, and there scarcely passed an hour in which Signor 
Malfi did not think of Mark Carroll. It did him good^ 
however^ and greatly soothed him to believe that Oaterina 
could be trusted to pay off the score which had been raised 
by her own infidelity. His supposed propinquity to Markus 
abiding-place brought Mark into mind more than ever, and 
a sudden sight of the signora on a railway platform had 
given him a new and terrible notion. The signora looked 
prosperous, yet had no baggage with her, as she would have 
had,. had she been far from home. She was smiling when 
he had seen her, and had seemed in quite a festal humor, 
and the signora’s idea was that she and Mark were simply 
under shelter together somewhere in the neighborhood. If 
that were so he had been more than commonly well fooled, 
and he was disposed to be more than commonly hurt by 
the fancy. Oaterina^ s threats against Mark had sounded 
real enough, and he had believed in them. It might have 
been reasonable to believe in them now, and to suppose 
that the fair signora was on her way to execute them, but 
Malfi^s mind was poisoned by jealousy, and he was not in 
the mood to think of what was or was not reasonable. 

He received his friend^s message, and he j^anted to be 
able to follow. It never crossed him to think that Oaterina 
had gone down for vengeance. It only occurred to him 
that he had been doubly and trebly fooled. He looked for- 
ward with a shaky, terrible delight to the hour t^^hen he 
would be able to get away from the duties which held him 
and denounce and curse them both. His programme went 
no further. But though he was on pleasure bent, he had 
a frugal mind, and he did not care to risk the loss of his 
engagement. He stayed out the morning rehearsal, there- 
fore, and being out of the cast for the evening, he took the 
midday train for Overhill. 

Mark got Tomb’s letter, and laughed over it to himself. 
He put a ten-pound note in his purse, and arranged to 
split his little all with his cousin. Mr. Carroll the elder 
had opened a banking account for him and treated him in 


240 


HEARTS: QUEEH^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


all respects as he had treated Tom aforetime^ but Mark 
did not see his way to a mention of that circumstance. He 
told his uncle that he was going into town to see after a 
guA which had suffered some trifling mishap and had been 
repaired. 

I am in need of exercise/^ said Mr. Carroll the elder. 

I will walk with you to the railway station.'’'^ 

Mark bustled about in an affectionate, half -reverential 
'bonhomie y and got the elder man^s hat and walking-stick. 
Mr. Carroll the elder liked that sort of service, and was 
pleased, but Mark took it as a matter of course to open 
doors for him and the like, as if he had been a marquis of 
the old regime and Mark a sort of privileged upper servant. 

The two set out together, and it hit Mark like a ham- 
mer to see the signora walking calmly along the one street 
of the village as if she had lived in the place all her life. 
She smiled when she saw Mark and recognized him by a 
mere drooping of her eyelids, which shu made to act in 
place of a nod. The ready gentleman was for the space of 
one heart-beat as white as marble, and for the space of 
another or so he blushed like the red, red rose. His foot 
tripped, once only, and he walked on as calm to outward 
appearance as before. The lady saw these signs and smiled 
again. She was going to crush him and ruin him, but she 
was not so poor an amateur in revenge as to do it all at 
once. She followed him slowly and at ease, accommodat- 
ing her pace to the solemn, ponderous, and somewhat gouty 
step of the elder gentleman. She recognized him also, and 
she had noticed anew the deferential character of Markus 
manner toward him. She either read in the elder^’s face or 
translated into it out of her own hopes a certain inflexible, 
dogmatic look, which argued well for her scheme, she 
thought. So she walked behind her victim, well pleased, 
and he glancing round casually saw her smile and cursed 
her, and went on talking in his own charming way for his 
uncle^s pleasure. 

It befell that Mr. Carroll found himself a little fatigued 
before much more than half-way to the railway station w^as 
accomplished. It had been at his own command and ex- 
pense that the line was carried so far from Trench House, 
and he was willing to suffer for it, but to-day he had no 
need to go so far. When he parted from Mark he passed 
the signora, and for all his grandeur and stateliness he 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


241 


could not avoid looking at her once, for curiosity, and once 
for a curious, extorted kind of admiration. She quite real- 
ized the elder CarrolFs idea of a fine woman, and when he 
had fairly passed her he arranged his gold-rimmed eye- 
glasses and turned for another glance at her. It discom- 
fited him curiously to find that she had turned to look at 
him, and that Mark had at the same moment turned to look 
at her. What business had she to look at him? and what 
business had Mark to look at strange and foreign young 
women? He walked with added dignity after this. 

Mark rejoiced that his uncle had left him, because he 
had now a free field in which to tackle this young woman. 
What did she want? Tq extort money? Or to ruin an 
old and faithless lover? Or was she here by some curious 
chance and not by intention? He resolved to know, and 
that right early. 

When he was persuaded that Mr. Carroll was fully out 
of sight he took a divergent course and strolled through a 
field or two. Then, lighting a cigar, he sat down upon a 
stile and awaited the signora coming. To his immense 
disgust she passed the first stile over which he had climbed, 
giving him a sweeping courtesy as she went. 

Damn the woman,^'' said Mark. She thinks I am 
afraid of her, and wants to play cat and mouse, does she? 
Very well, my lady. I suppose I^d better have it over.^^ 

He arose and walked briskly back into the road, and 
there was the signora placidly strolling ahead of him. He 
followed, and came up with her easily. The road was 
quite clear, and there was no great fear of being observed in 
her company. 

My charming Caterina,^^ he said, in her own language, 
as he came to her, it is a pleasant surprise to see you 

Is it not?^^ she asked him, without turning her head. 

It is, indeed.''^ 

1 am so glad to please you,^^ said the signora, smiling. 

You know that I made you a promise a long time ago. 
I am here to keep it. I have heard what a very good man 
your uncle is. I have heard that he is so very good that 
he could not even tolerate the poor, stupid innocent, your 
cousin. I am here to tell him what a good young man yoii, 
are, and to help to fix you in your place, dear friend. 


242 


HEARTS: QUEEH:, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


Thank you^ my Oaterina/^ said Mark, suavely. 

Shall I tell you something you do not guess 
If you please/^ said Oaterina, smiling still. 

You are the cast-off mistress of my cousin, and your 
object here is to extort money from me by threats. The 
first policeman we meet will see you out of the village to 
oblige me, and to avoid scandal he will do it quite quietly. 
She stood still in the road to look at him, and there was 
no vestige of her late smile in her eyes. 

You see, Oaterina,^^ said Mark, that it is scarcely 
worth your while to play with me.^^ 

I suppose, she said quietly, and in a sort of wonder 
at him, “that you have told li^ about your cousin all 
along. 

“ Assuredly, said Mark. “ I shall tell lies about you if 
you make it necessary, and I shall be believed. That is 
the way of the world. Your injured innocence remains 
uncredited, poor Caterina, and my practical villainy once 
more succeeds. 

“ Marco, said the signora, “ you misunderstand. I 
told you that I was dangerous. You do not know how 
dangerous I am.^^ 

It was only within the last minute or two that she her- 
self had begun to guess that. 

“ My good child, said Mark, “ I am not in the least 
afraid of you, and I am not likely to be. I thought it well 
to see you at once and have the thing over. You sung in 
my cousin s theater, and everybody down here is willing to 
believe anything of him. I am very sorry that he lias 
sunk so low as to send you here to extort money from me 
for his own necessities, but if I am forced to say so I shall 
say so, and there is an end. I shall be believed. I^obody 
will understand what you try to say in answer, and if they 
did understand you, nobody would believe you.^^ 

She felt foiled and desperate. There was a diabolical 
reason in this cool villainy which staggered her. Why 
should people believe her? And how should they under- 
stand her? 

“ Marco, she said, quickening her pace to keep iqi with 
him, for he had begun to walk on as if the conference had 
ended, “ Marco, you will drive me to kill you if I can not 
be revenged in another way. Take your choice. 

“ If you are not gone in two hours/^ said Mark; trail- 


HEAETS: QtJEEK, KHAVE, AKE DEUCE. 243 

quilly^ I shall report your threats to the police^ and shall 
order your removal. Silly child, I don^t want to hurt 
you, but I won^t have you in my way.^'’ 

She walked on after him downcast and lowering in look. 

I can not go away,^^ she said, after a while, in a tone 
which seemed to Markus ears to admit that she was van- 
quished, I have not money enough to go back witli.""^ 

Well, as for that,^^ said Mark, I am not so hard that 
I will not help you. He thought of the ten-pound note 
in his purse, but Mark never liked to part with money, 
and there was a partial claim upon that already. You 
may stay till evening. A train leaves at eight o^clock. 
Do you see thak little copse? Do you see that white road 
across the fields, which leads from it to the railway-station? 
Meet me there — near the great tree at the edge — do you 
see it? — and I will give you enough to carry you back. 
For once I will deal mercifully with you, but if you come 
again I will do that which will make you sorry till you die. 
Good-day, Caterina.''^ 

He walked on slowly, and she turned as if broken, and 
when he looked after her she was crawling along dis- 
piritedly with hanging head. Had he known her thoughts 
he would have been less satisfied. 

For all his outer coolness he had been so absorbed in 
speech with her that he had neither seen nor heard the de- 
parture of the train, though the warning bell and whistle 
had sounded clearly, and the train had gone smoking over 
the winding rails through half a mile of open country. 

Too late, Mr. Mark,^"" said the station-master. That^s 
a fine lassie yonder, sir, if youTl excuse me saying so. 
There^s nobody down here, though, so it seems, that talks 
her lingo. I suppose you understand those outlandish 
tongues, having traveled, sir?^^ 

Mark had been seen there in the act of talking with her. 
Well, his lie was ready. 

You can hold your tongue, can T you, Leggatt?^^ he 
said, looking round in a confidential, secret way. You^ve 
heard of my poor Cousins’s doings up in town. That^s one 
of the painted trollops that sung at his theater, and shea’s 
down here on the lookout for him, poor beggar. IWe 
promised her a pound or two to go away quietly and not to 
bother him.^^ 

Poor Mr. Thomas said the station-master. He 


244 


hearts: queek^ kkave^ akd deuce. 


used to seem as good a sort as ever broke bread. He’ve 
brought his pigs to a baddish market now^ though^ haven ^t 
he?^^ 

Mark assented sorrowfully^ and walked away. Perhaps 
it would be as well not to leave Overhill to-day. The sign- 
ora might recover audacity in his absence. He went back 
and explained that he had missed the train and he stayed 
in-doors all day. 

Tom, meanwhile, waited and waited. There was no an- 
swer to his letter, and it appeared as if no notice were to 
be taken of it. Toward evening his suspicions of Cousin 
Mark began to side with Baretti^s, and he incontinently 
took train to Overhill. He would make no disturbance 
there, but he would have the truth out of Mark at least. 

As he alighted from the train the station-master saw 
him and saluted. The village people knew him, of course, 
and most of them sheered off from him, though one or 
two hats were raised. 

Can I speak to you just a second, Mr. Thomas?^^ said 
the station-master. ‘‘I wouldnH be seen up village- to- 
night, if I was you, if youTl excuse me, sir. There^s that 
foreign young person down here, sir, and I gather from 
Mr. Mark that thereTl be a row if she sees you.'’^ 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Tom looked with a changeful countenance at the station- 
master. 

What do you mean by saying that you gather that from 
my cousin?^^ he asked, after a pause which was remarkable 
for its length and for the indications of emotion in Tom^s 
face whilst his silence lasted. Tell me what you gather 
from my cousin Mark?^^ 

Well, sir,^^ returned the station-master, defensively, 
I spoke in friendship, sir, and I trust thereTl be no ill- 
will because I dared to mention it. Mr. Mark deposes that 
the foreign person is looking for you, sir, and he seems to 
think that if she sees you the fat will be in the fire. 

Why?^^ asked Tom, briefly. 

Well, sir,^" said the man, with a laugh, awkward and 
embarrassed, that^s for you to say.^^ 

I want to understand this, if you please, Leggatt,'^ 


HEARTS: QUEEK, Kls^AVE, AKD DEUCE. 245 


said Toin^ grasping his stout walking-cane with both 
hands^ and speaking with some difficulty and slowness. 

What has my cousin told you?^^ 

Well, sir/’ returned the station-master, in round 
English, he told me nothing that he ought to be ashamed 
of. I don^t know about your share in the matter. 

What did he tell you?^^ asked Tom again. 

Well, sir,^^ said the man, with a touch of virtuous in- 
dignation, he did say that the young woman was one of 
the trollops that Overhilhs heard too much of. I^m sorry 
I took the trouble to speak about the matter, sir. Shea’s 
in the village, if you like to face her.^^ 

It^s curious, Leggatt,^^ said Tom, how easy it seems 
for everybody to believe evil of a man. I must see this 
young lady, and find out who she is at least. Tell me one 
thing. Has — Never mind. Good-day, Leggatt. 

Tom swung out of the station, and the master watched 
him as he walked toward the village. The lad was reck- 
less by this time. Markus desertion of him seemed definite 
enough, and though Tom could not as yet grasp the details 
of the new situation, it was plain that his cousin was 
maligning him, and plain that Baretti^s suspicions had all 
along been Wf^ll founded. Tom thought of the old days 
when he had been prosperous, and had stretched out a free 
hand to Mark. He remembered the countless favors he 
had done him, and the affection he had always felt for him, 
and every memory made Markus villainy the blacker. 

I shall kill him if I see him now,'’^ he said to himself, 
and slackening his pace he began to walk indeterminately. 

Even at this time the habit of his whole life and the bent 
of his whole nature asserted themselves, and he began to 
seek explanations and to cling to excuses for Mark. It was 
not altogether impossible that Markus faith in him had 
been destroyed by the constant rumors about him. Other 
people had fallen away from him, and Mark need after all 
have been guilty of no such willful crime as Tom^s thoughts 
imputed to him. Mark and Tom were such old sailing 
companions. Almost anything seemed more credible than 
that Mark should have deliberately cut the ties of countless 
favors, of friendship, and of blood, to leave the cousinly 
craft adrift, ^hat he should fire into it began to seem 
hardly believable at all. 

If I find it all true — ” said Tom to himself, a hundred 


24G 


hearts: qheeet, ehaye, akb deuce. 


times. Then he would grasp that stout walking-stick more 
tightly^ and his nerves would tingle, and his cheeks flush 
and eyes glitter. Markus like the rest of them, aiid 
canT keep his faith in an old friend against scandal. 
That reflection was only sorrowful, and carried no rage 
with it like the other. And, sorrowful as it was, it had a 
little comfort in it. You would rather your friend should 
wrongfully suspect you of evil than that he should deliber- 
ately turn traitor. 

Now came still evening on, and Tom was yet walking 
indeterminately about the fields and lanes. He was half 
disposed to go back and leave Mark alone, and half dis- 
posed to walk boldly up to the house of his birth and de- 
mand to see Mark there and have it out, when chance, 
which decides for so many of us, decided for him. Cousin 
Mark heaved in sight, tranquilly smoking a cigar and 
twirling a walking-cane. Tom rose from the stile on 
which for the last minute or two he had been sitting, and 
went forward to meet him. Mark caught sight of him as 
he rose, and for a second the ready young many’s foot 
lingered on the road, and his swift faculty of invention 
struck out all round in search for an impromptu weapon of 
defense. 

My dear fellow,^ ^ he said, hastening forward, and tak- 
ing Tom by the hand, donT you think you are acting 
somewhat precipitately in coming here?^^ 

It may turn out that I am a little late rather than a 
little precipitate,^^ Tom answered. Markus hand thrown 
toward him in vigorous welcome had mechanically drawn 
his own to meet it, but Mark felt no answering pressure to 
his own honest grip. 

What do you mean, Tom?^^ he asked. There was a 
tone of wounded friendship in his voice. 

Let me ask you one or two questions, Tom said 
quietly, though his voice shook. 

Willingly, my dear fellow,^ ^ answered Mark. Shall 
we walk the while 

He put an arm through his cousin^ sand made a forward 
step, but Tom stood stock still. Mark permitted no change 
to reach his face, though his companion's presence there 
was more than annoying, and in a momeiffc might be dan- 
gerous. They were within twenty yards of the signora^s 
trysting-place, and within a few minutes of her time. 


HEARTS: QUEEN^ KKAVE^ Ais^D DEUCE. 247 

I want to ask you, to begin with/^ said Tom, huskily, 
and slowly, if you have lost all your faith in the profes- 
sions of innocence I have made to you?’^ 

What a question said Mark, turning his face upon 
him in surprise. Good God, my dear fellow, No. A 
thousand times No.^^ 

He made another movement to step forward, and again 
Tom stood immobile and irresponsive. . 

You believe, said Tom, speaking more huskily than 
before, and withdrawing his arm from Markus, so that he 
might stand squarely in front of him — you believe now, 
as you have always professed to believe, that I have been 
maligned 

I donH merely believe it, Tom,^^ said Mark, I know 
it. 

^^Then,^^ asked Tom, laying a sudden hand, upon the 
lapel of Markus coat, why do you spread the scandals? 

I spread the scandal said the other, with an air of 
indignant amazement and remonstrance. What absurd- 
ity is this?^ ^ 

Leggatt, the station-master,^^ said Tom, with a tight- 
ening grip upon Markus coat, gathers from my cousin 
Mark that one of the young women of whom Overhill has 
heard too much in connection with my name is down here 
to look after me.^^ 

Leggatt,'''' said Mark, is a drunken liar,"^ 

Thank you,^^ said Tom. Come and tell him so in 
my presence, Mark. 

Mark reached out both hands quietly, and took Tom 
pretty firmly by the shoulders. 

I sha^n^t do that, Tom.^^ 

Why not?^^ Tom demanded. 

I can^t afford to lose the confidence of the village peo- 
ple.''^ The hand upon the lapel of Markus coat so far re- 
laxed that Mark by the mere act of sliding his hands from 
Toin^s shoulders to his arms removed it. The two were 
standing face to face, and were looking in each other ^s eyes. 
Tom's face was fiushed, and Mark's was white, but the 
white face was the steadier of the two. 

Do you mean," said Tom, that you can not deny it 
in his presence?" 

“ Quite right, Tom," answered Mark, entwining his 
gloved fingers firmly in the sleeves of his cousin's coat 


248 


HEAKTS: QUEEK:, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


You have found me out, as there was always a chance of 
your doing, and things have gone on so well with me that 
I don^t much care. My footing is pretty safe now, and 
nothing you can say or do can shake me. But if I give one 
of the villagers the chance to say I am a liar, I pull down 
my own stronghold. ^ ^ Tom stood quite still, breathing 
hard and slow, and looked Mark in the eyes. Mark looked 
back at him and spoke like a victor to an enemy. ‘ ‘ It was 
likely enough that you would have to know one day or 
other. You know now, and I suppose we declare open 
warfare. 

Markus grip on his cousin^s sleeves was firm and hard, 
and he waited with wary eye, and every muscle ready. He 
could guess partly at the rage and wonder and contempt 
which chased each other in Tom^s mind and were faintly 
mirrored in his face. 

‘^You infamous scoundrel cried Tom. You vil- 
lain. Mark looked at him steadfastly, and Tom, making 
a backward movement of aversion and disdain, found him- 
self pinioned in his cousin ^s grasp. Let me go,^^ he 
cried. You infamous hound. 

Mark, with his eyes still steadfastly fixed on Tonies, re- 
leased him. There was no threat of immediate personal 
violence in the manner of the man whom he had. wronged, 
and to Mark that was satisfactory. He knew the emotions 
to be complex things, and he had expected that Tom would 
find his chief solace in contempt, or in what he supposed 
to be contempt — a mental condition founded chiefly — ac- 
cording to Markus analysis — on hate and envy. 

I begin to know now,^^ said Tom, who might have 
been the detected villain of the two, he looked so disturbed 
by contrast with the other. I have heard you describe 
yourself often enough. But I never thought that a man 
could be such a dastard.'’^ Mark held him with a glitter- 
ing eye and kept silence. ‘‘You think you have won? 
You think you are safely seated Not a word from Mark, 
not a sign. Only that persistent, unchanging, watchful 
glance, cool and wary and wicked. “ An honest many’s 
contempt is too slight a weapon to pierce that callous hide 
of yours ! You hound. 

When the blow came Mark was ready for it. Tom^s 
stick lashed out straight at his face, and Mark parried, like 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 249 

the skillful player that he was. But Tom^s rage, which 
might have wreaked itself in one stroke, if the one stroke 
had taken efeet, carried him beyond all restraint when he 
found it intercepted, and casting away his stick he hurled 
himself bodily upon Mark, and took him by the throat. As 
quick as lightning Mark crooked him by the heel and fell 
upon him. 

DonH fight like a wild beast, my good fellow,^^ said 
Mark, regaining his feet. I don^t want to hurt you, and 
you canH hurt me. I could kill you in five minutes, and if 
you have a grain of sense left you know that."^^ 

Tom rose a little dazed and staggered. The evening 
was closing rapidly, but there was still light enough for a 
man to see to fight by, and he rushed at Mark once more, 
but only to be met by a crashing smack half on the jaw 
and half on the neck. This brought him to his hands and 
knees sick and dizzy and trembling, and for a full minute 
he could not rise. 

You can see,^^ said Mark, what an infernal fool you 
are. I don^t want to hurt you, but I canT stand still and 
be mauled, and if you will have it you will have it. I 
always knew you were a fool,"’^ he added coolly, with air 
and voice of contemptuous expostulation, but, hang it 
all, can^t you see what an ass you^re making of yourself 
now? It^’s natural enough that you should want to give 
me a hiding, I dare sa}^ but — "Well, if you will, you will.^^ 
Tom was up again and making for him once more. 
Mark could just see his gleaming eyes in the dusk, and 
wondered if his own shone so. The whole affair was emi- 
nently distasteful no doubt, but he was quite quiet about 
it. It began to be clear that Tom meant to go on trying 
as long as he had the power to make an effort, and the 
conflict, one-sided as it was, promised to last some time. 
By and by there would be the signora as a witness to it, and 
that odd sense of fun which Mark owned made him laugh 
at the fancy that the lady might take the aggressor^s side. 

That would import a new interest,^ ^ said Mark, silent- 
ly and to himself. Tom saw the laugh in his cousin^ s face 
(for Mark faced the waning light), and somehow the sudden 
deep hatred born of the o therms cynicism and villainy 
seemed to cool him. Mark boxed splendidly, and Tom was 
but a poor opponent for him, though he was not altogether 
ignorant, and he was altogether fearless. There was one 


250 


HEARTS: QtJEEK, KKAYE, AND REtJGK 


idea alone in his mind^ he was bent on thrashing Mark. 
In fine^ he was dangerous; for science^ though it goes for 
niuch^ is not everything in an encounter with the weapons 
of nature^ and the clumsiest duffer may get one in by 
chance. Tom came up warily this time, and for a minute 
or nearly neither had an advantage worth naming. Then 
Tom landed with that unskillful right of his, delivered in 
direct defiance of art and rule, but telling heavily. Markus 
counter was smart but ineffective, and Tom, seeing his 
chance, followed with the left, put in the right again with 
the whole weight of his body behind it, and stood over the 
prostrate Mark, somewhat to his own amazement, victor 
for the moment. 

Thri(^ is he armed that hath his quarrel just, and it may 
be admitted that if ever a man had the right to thrash 
another, Mark had conferred such a right upon his cousin. 
Markus confidence was shaken, and as he rose he said to 
himself, I may have to take a hiding after all.^^ Tom, 
standing by for the renewal of hostilities, said to himself, 

I shall win.^^ Mark was no coward, but he did not scorn 
punishment as Tom did, and that went a long way toward 
balancing the difference in skill, since the least skillful had 
begun to prove the doctrine of chances. It was getting 
dark too, and that helped to equalize matters. In boxing 
you want to see your friend ^s eye, just as you do in fencing, 
and there is a curious instinct wakened by practice, which 
tells you exactly which feature the eye has chosen, and you 
have telegraphed to you with unfailing accuracy the point 
of time at which the advancing and retiring left will shoot 
straight from the shoulder. I write for the ignorant. The 
learned know these things. 

Genuine scorn of pain or disfigurement began to tell. 
The passion of hate and the stern yearning for a just re- 
venge were stronger than the mere instinct of self defense, 
and Tom^s constitutional stamina was greater than his 
cousin^ s. Mark, being knocked clean off his legs for the 
third time, declined to get up again. He was a young man 
in whom there was no faculty for shame, and he was get- 
ting the worst of it under these unfavorable conditions. 

“ I have had enough, said Mark. 

I have not,^^ said Tom, grimly. Stand up.^^ 

I tell you I^ve had enough, Mark replied, with excus- 
able asperity. 


HEAETS: QUEEN^ KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 251 

Stand said Tom again^ or ITl cane the life out 
of you. 

Mark stood up, desperate, and prepared to renew the 
conflict. 

How long?'’^ he asked. How long do you mean to 
carry on this business 

Till one of us kills the other, said Tom. 

The sincerity of this declaration was undoubtable, and 
Mark felt a chill as he looked at the prospect. This mild, 
long-suffering fool of a cousin of his had an animal strain 
in him after all, and could be stirred up to real vengeance. 
Mark began to fight this time with the energy of despera- 
tion, but the steel was taken out of him already, and in 
two or three minutes he was down once more. 

Stand up,^"" said Tom again. Mark made no answer, 
and Tom, whose foot touched his discarded cane at this 
moment, stooped and picked up the weapon. 

Pair play,^^ cried Mark, struggling to his feet. 

You mistake the situation, Mark,'’^ said Tom, with a 
bitter coolness which had. a passion of rage within it. 

This is not a conflict according to the laws of the prize 
ring. It is an execution. Come, sir. 

To deal briefly with a subject which can have but little 
charm to the tender-hearted, Tom Carroll held his hand 
when the walking-cane broke in pieces, but not before. At 
first Mark took it fighting, but for the last minute or two 
he was on his knees, and only the cousinly hand upon his 
collar kept him from falling in a huddled heap upon the 
turf. When at length Tom threw away the stump of the 
cane and released his hold, Mark dropped like a limj) 
towel. 

Now I have had enough, said Tom, not altogether 
unreasonably. 

He found his hat, threw the overcoat he had discarded 
at the second or third round over his arm, and went away, 
leaving Mark still coiled up on the turf, moaning, and half 
unconscious. Half an hour had passed before Mark 
moved, and when he arose he cursed with a subdued in- 
tensity which was not unworthy of the situation. He had 
not merely been royally thrashed, so thrashed that he could 
scarcely stand or crawl, but he had been thrashed by a man 
much less able than himself, and the reflection was galling. 
Still his sense of the fitness of things was not wholly dis- 


252 


HEAETS: QUEEET, KE^AVE^ AND DEUCE. 


turbed. He saw that, from Tom^s point of view, the 
night work looked natural. 

Tom, meanwhile, liaving discharged his mission, walked 
toward the railway station. In this world things are so 
ordered that no joy is permanent, no happiness stable. 
For the first two or three hundred yards the gladness of 
battle abode with him, but then a shade of compunction 
began to steal over his heart. He told himself that Mark 
had deserved all he had got, and more, but he was natu- 
rally of a merciful turn, and, except in the heat of passion, 
could have hurt no human creature, however obnoxious 
and hateful. The sense of compunction was not strong 
enough to mount into repentance, but it dashed his venge- 
ful pleasure. 

‘‘ I have no right to be pleased, said Tom, as he walked. 

The work was dirty, though necessary and just; and no 
man has a right to extract pleasure out of such a business. 

Yet he missed the exhilarating glow of revenge accom- 
plished; and, by the time of his arrival at the station he was 
depressed, and almost miserable. The little first-class 
waiting-room there had a mirror on the wall, and, catching 
sight of his own reflection within it, he started with sur- 
prise. A cut on the forehead, with dry blood barked about 
it, looked terrible. His nose and upper lip were of abnor- 
mal size, his shirt was open at the collar, his necktie was 
wildly disarranged, and there were two or three buttons 
missing from his waistcoat. He had scarcely felt his own 
damage until now; out of sight was out of mind, but he 
began to be conscious of sundry aches and pains, and he 
found that he could scarcely raise his right hand to his 
head. That fact was^ of course, traceable to the vigorous 
employment of unaccustomed muscles, and was in itself a 
testimony to the completeness of the castigation inflicted 
upon Cousin Mark. 

Tom walked to the station-masteFs private door, and 
knocked there. 

Can you let me have a wash, Leggatt?^^ he demanded, 
when the man appeared. 

Certainly, sir,^^ said Leggatt, with jDolite deference. 

Come in, sir.^^ 

When Tom walked into the light the man literally 
jumped. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 258 

God bless my soul, sir/^ he cried. you^re coyered 
with blood. 

I don^t think there^s much the matter, said Tom, 
quietly. When is the next train 

Due in five minutes, sir,^^ said Leggatt, staring at him. 

Have you been having a fight, sir, or what.^ You^’re 
awfully knocked about, sir. ^ ^ 

That reminds me,^"" said Tom, with apparent calmness. 

When you can find time you had better take the porter 
with you, and walk up to Marston^'s Spinney. I think you 
will find mj’^ cousin there. He wants looking after. 

The station-master paused in the act of pouring water 
into a basin, and asked : 

YouVe had a row with Mister Mark, sir?^^ 

Yes,^^ said Tom. We have quarreled, and I have 
given him a thrashing. I think he deserved it. But he 
wants looking after, I fancy, and perhaps you had better 
see to it. If any inquiries should be made after me you 
can say that I have gone straight up to town. 

I hope to God you^e done no mischief, sir,^^ said the 
station-master. 

He will be all right in a week or two,^^ said Tom, 
calmly. A little soap, if you please. Thank you. 

The station-master, with distracted visage, stood by 
whilst the young man washed, and he saw that both hands 
and the culfs of his shirt were caked with blood. Tom 
borrowed a hair-brush when he had washed, and in a min- 
ute or two looked half -respectable again. The warning bell 
rang outside and the two came upon the platform together. 

Good-bye, Leggatt,^^ said Tom, as he stepped into 
the carriage. It was the last train for the night, and he 
was the sole passenger from the little Overhill terminus. 

There^s half-a-sovereign for you. Look after my cousin, 
if you please. I think it likely that you will find him just 
at this end of the Spinney. If not, you may make inquiry 
about him and see if he has got home.^^ 

The engine and its three coaches steamed away, and the 
station-master was left agape on the platform. A minute 
or two had elapsed before he spoke to the porter, who was 
preparing to go home, and bade him get a light. The two 
went together to the place indicated and searched about 
until they found a patch of trampled grass, evidently the 
scene of battle. There had been rain within a few hours, 


254 HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAYE;, AKD DEUCE. 

the soft turf had easily torn away, and scores of little 
patches of bare earth were shown by the light of the lan- 
tern. 

Mr. Mark has got up and quitted/^ said the porter, 
swinging the light to and fro, but there^s been a pretty 
tidy conflict by the look of things. 

Hush!^^ said the station-master. Listen. What^s 
that?^^ 

There was a heavy groan from near at hand, and the 
men, hearing it plainfy, stood still and trembled. 

There^s been a bad night^s work here, Fm afraid,^^ 
said the chief. A man ainH battered about in fair fight 
till he cries like that.^^ 

“ Here he is,^^ cried the porter, after waving his lantern 
to and fro again. In another moment they stood above 
Mark OarrolFs prostrate figure. He lay all abroad, with 
his face upward, and his chin pointed to the sky. His 
arms and legs were flung helplessly into the form of the 
letter X and at intervals of thirty seconds or thereabouts 
he groaned terribly. If the two searchers had advanced in 
silence they must have heard him long ago. Whilst they 
looked the station-master suddenly dropped upon his knees 
so that his face came into the circle of light. His shaky 
forefinger almost touched a something white which stuck 
out from the breast of the recumbent figure. The j^orter 
dropped upon his knees on the other side, and the two 
glared at each other. 

Stabbed gasped one, and the other answered in the 
same word like a husky echo. 

The white object was the ivory handle of a dagger, and 
the bade was buried in Mark CarrolFs body. 

For Heaven^ s sake,^^ said the porter, “ don^t touch it. 
Fve heard tell it^s certain death, unless youT’e a doctor. 
Shall I run for Doctor Marks 

'No/^ cried the station-master, rising and recoiling in 
a single motion. Stay here. ITl go.'’^ 

He sped in a shaky horror across the fields, and the 
porter knelt trembling on the grass, whilst the wounded 
man beside him groaned at intervals which felt like hours. 
After an awful time came lights and voices, and figures 
moved about the field as if in the uncertain horror of a dream. 
The doctor came with the little crowd of people who had 
been summoned to assist, and in a while the wounded man 


hearts: QUEEK;, kkave^ ahd deuce. 


255 


was taken up and borne away in silence or amidst dreadful 
whispered guesses, and the lights and the frightened faces 
passed away. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

Wheh the charming signora left Mark she walked back 
to the village inn and retired to her own room. At first 
as she walked her drooping gait deceived Mark, and so 
long as he looked after her it gave him good reason to be- 
lieve her vanquished. But before long she began to walk 
swiftly and her form became more upright, whilst the ex- 
pression of her face underwent a singular and terrible 
change. At the house-door before she entered it she sight- 
ed one of the yokels of Overhill, and became conscious of 
her own aspect. As well as she could she smoothed her 
features, and as she came near she made a shift to assume 
a smile, which in spite of thp best intentions looked forced 
and a little ghastly. But the yokel, being a yokel, was not 
good at the reading of facial expression, and only knew 
that a remarkably fine woman had gone by smiling. Speak- 
ing about her over his next pint, the loafer observed that 
slie did seem a good-natured un enough, but when she haxi 
passed him her features unscrewed themselves unseen and 
her look was openly terrible once more. She took off her 
bonnet and smoothed her hair before the little meager 
square of mirror on the table by the window, and for a 
time regarded her reflection steadily, whilst her bosom 
heaved with a motion at once slow and tempestuous, and 
her hands were clinched tightly. 

In a while she sat down, and for an hour or more she 
was almost as still as a statue, except for that slow, long- 
drawn and labored breath and an occasional movement of 
the hands. The fact was that this charming creature was 
meditating no less a thing than murder, and the deed 
looked as awful to her as it could look to anybody. Half 
her soul clamored for it, and half her soul dreaded it and 
feared the consequences. Hot the consequences which 
would follow by the penal law, but the slow punishment of 
her own heart and nerves — the carrying about of a mur- 
dered many’s ghost with her, in the bright day and the still 
watches of the night. She knew that her most terrible 
punishment would be to escape detection, and her thoughts 


256 hearts: queek^ kkave, akb deuce. 

prophesied to her with frightful clearness. She could see 
herself going about with that shadowy companion (invisi- 
ble to all eyes but her own), she could see herself tossing 
through long nights of secret horror with the image of the 
murdered man standing vaguely against the curtain of the 
darkness. Her thoughts went further, and she could see 
the black shining reaches of the river, and the gas-lamps 
on either side growing closer and closer as they receded, 
until they became a fine line of light in the distance, and 
through the night a woman, driven by a shadowy horror 
in her rear, and dragged by whispering voices, from the 
stream, walking with reluctant feet toward the refuge of 
death. She saw these things and they thrilled her with 
fears, but she knew that neither they nor anything sur- 
mountable by hate or cunning would stay her hand a mo- 
ment. 

He had foiled her in a vengeance at once cheaper and 
more satisfactory than this would be, and he must pay the 
penalty. Eather than he should win she was ready to dare 
and suffer anything. She had set her heart upon his ruin, 
and had made sure of it and gloated over it beforehand. 
She had held the cup to her own lips and had maddened 
herself with thirst to drink it until the temptation of the 
draught was irresistible. Then at the moment when her 
lips had touched the brim, Markus hand, stronger and longer 
in reach than she had fancied, had taken the cup from her 
grasp and tossed it away. Perhaps had Mark foreseen 
what was coming, he would rather have been ruined out- 
right at once, but he did not know how desperate her thirst 
had grown, or what length she would go to slake it. 

T^he time went by as slowly as it travels in a night of 
fever, when every hour drags itself into insupportable years, 
and she sat like a monument of patient hate. Through her 
open window she could hear the church-clock strike the 
quarters and the hours, after pauses that seemed incredible, 
and these were the only sounds she cared to hear or took 
note of, until a voice suddenly struck upon her ear and 
brought her to her feet. 

This voice was a man^s, and it spoke a few words of 
very foreign-sounding English. 

‘‘ Tito!’"" she said to herself in a wondering whisper, and 
stepping like a cat, she advanced and knelt by the open 
window to listen. He was asking merely for something to 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KHAVE, AHD DEUCE. 


257 


eat and drink, but he did it so lamely that the country wits 
of the landlord were sorely tried to understand him. In 
one respect at least Signor Malfi was a model of the oper- 
atic tenor. He had lived long in many countries and had 
never mastered any language but his own, or tried to mas- 
ter any. In London, Vienna , Brussels, St. Petersburg, 
New York, or what not, he eat polenta and drank asti 
spumanti or inferno in an Italian restaurant, and whereso- 
ever he went he had but one theme, the audacity of all 
other operatic tenors whatsoever in pretending to sing. 
Even his native vocabulary was limited, and the man was 
stupid and ignorant and a mountain of egotism. 

He had one faculty which in intentness approached the 
confines of the heroic, and would have passed them had he 
not been a coward. He could hate. In a bitter, long- 
lived, slow-burning way his faculty in this direction sur- 
passed that of the signora, and jealousy heaped coals upon 
his fire and poured oil upon it. He had followed the sign- 
ora to this out-of-the-way place inspired by hate of Mark 
and jealousy of her, and he had learned already that Mark 
Carroll lived in the village, and had Trench House pointed 
out to him. Mark Carroll was not at first recognizable in 
the village ears as Marco Carroli, but by dint of persever- 
ance the signor had conquered this obstacle and had learned 
what he wished to learn. Now murder, if the thing were 
to be accomplished safely, presented no such terrors to his 
mind as it did to the signora^ s, and it was significant of 
the quality of his hatred that he could eat and drink even 
whilst it burned its bitterest within. There was nothing 
clearer in the whole world to his limited intellect than the 
certainty that Mark and Caterina were again together, and 
that her pretense of hatred against Mark had been simply 
a cunning blind. The signor, in spite of his presence there, 
and his hate and jealousy, set an exaggerated value upon 
his neck, and yet in spite of that he carried a stiletto with 
him. If a chance should occur — a safe chance — it would 
be hard to miss it, and aggravating to think of it afterward. 
Less than a safe chance he did not feel disposed to take, 
but he went about (with the usual astonishing ignorance 
and stupidity of men who contemplate the crime about 
which he was hovering) to make himself noticeable, and to 
stamp it on the memories of people that a stranger, who 
could scarce speak English, and who in an English village 


258 


HEARTS: QUEEH^ KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


was remarkable in a hundred ways, had been asking about 
Mark Carroll. 

He sat in the- front room of the inn looking on the one 
street of the village, and there, being really hungry and 
thirsty, he eat bread and cheese, and drank small beer, 
though he made wry faces over it. Then he tried to ques- 
tion his host, who tried hard to understand him and failed. 
The signora, who had her window closed, and her bed- 
room -door open by this time, heard him and understood 
him well enough. The signor wished to know whether he 
was aware of the existence of a foreign young woman in 
those parts; and the landlord without in the least under- 
standing him proposed to answer this question straight and 
to the point by bringing down the signora herself to trans- 
late for him. The landlord firmly believed that all for- 
eigners were Frenchmen, and that all foreign tongues were 
French. 

He mounted the stairs and rapped at the signora^ s door. 
At the first sound of his step upon the stair she had silently 
fixed the latch and retired. 

Excuse me, miss,^^ said he, when she had opened the 
door again, there^s a Frenchman down-stairs, as T canT 
make a word out of. Would you, now, just hav^e the 
goodness to walk down and pass a word with him?^^ 

The signora shook her head, and the landlord, having 
tried in vain to persuade her, retired and rejoined Signor 
Malfi. 

‘‘ There is a young ooman upstairs,^^ said he, as talks 
your lingo, and canT scarcely speak any other, but she 
ainT the sort to lielp nobody, it seems. There ^s Mister 
Mark, now — Mister Mark Carroll — as have traveled in for- 
eign parts,™ and may be he mightn ’t mind taking the pains 
to speak to you, but there^s nobody else in the village, on- 
less iCs parson, and him I ainT sure about. 

This address passed by the signor like the idle wind, 
which he regarded not. He did not even catch liis enemy^s 
name, for the landlord made it Mark Carl as nearly as 
phonography can do him justice. 

“ Tank you, sare,'’^ said the signor. Ow nioshe?^^ 

This the landlord understood, and answered with his 
fingers. The signor having settled his little bill, lighted a 
cigar, asked for brandy, and having by this time exhausted 
his English, sat quietly sipping and smoking. The sign- 


hearts: queen^ knave^ and deuce. 259 

ora had opened her door again and listened, waiting for 
him to go. After what seemed a long time he got up and 
went away with a huono giorno to the host. Caterina be- 
gan to breathe more freely. It was evident that Malfi was 
hunting her for some purpose of his own, and she was in- 
disposed to lose her one immediate chance of vengeance. 
She peered at him through the rough curtains of imitation 
lace, and saw him sauntering down the road. Perhaps he 
had given up the hunt, with whatever purpose it had been 
started. She resumed her bonnet and went down-stairs to 
look after him. The freedom of the open air began to i{i- 
vite her, and she had felt half stifled in her chamber. 
When the signora walked round the first bend in the strag- 
gling village street she waited for a minute only, and then, 
gathering her mantle about her more closely, walked brisk- 
ly in the opposite direction to that he had just taken. Once 
out of the village she, made a detour by the fields, and then 
began to approach the copse at the end of which Mark had 
arranged for the evening interview. Eeflecting that it 
would not be wise with such a deed as she had in view to be 
seen too much in that immediate neighborhood, she turned 
back suddenly and discovered the signor at a little distance. 
She knew at once, as if by instinct, that he had been dog- 
ging her steps, and determined to face him at once and to 
have his business over. Malfi, on his part, seeing that she 
walked to meet him, stood stock-still, with his black eyes 
blazing and Ris skin a dirtyish olive-gray. Her eyes were 
aflame, too, and her bosom heaved faster than common. 

Well,''^ she said, facing him boldly, what do you 
want with me?^^ 

You are like all women,^^ he answered, with all the 
courage he could summon. You are a liar and a pre- 
tender. But I have found you out at last, and I am bent 
upon revenge. 

So am 1/^ she answered. 

You blinded me once,^^ he said, moistening his dry 
lips with his tongue, but you will blind me no more. I 
was a fool to believe you, but you acted well.'’^ 

You were always a fool, Tito,^^ she said, contemptu- 
ously; and you have undergone no change. You are 
not safe here, for I am desperate, and you will do wisely 
to go away.-^^ 


260 HEAKTS: <^UEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 

Not until I have killed him or you/^ said the Signor 
Malfi. 

The signora laughed at him, and the signor did not in- 
deed look especially formidable on the outside that mo- 
ment. His eyes had lost half their fire, and he looked 
hither and thither rather than face her steady glance. The 
woman frightened him, and he began to wish that he had 
let her alone, though he found himself compelled to brag 
and bully a little before he went. 

Now the lady herself had been ready enough to threaten 
Mark before she had meant any real mischief against him, 
in a general sort of way. But now the reticence which 
often accompanies real hate (just as it accompanies the 
rival passion) stepped in between herself and any procla- 
mation of her intent. 

You!^^ she said scornfully. You are too much a 
coward to kill anybody. Why are you here? Are you 
jealous of me, you poor fool? What do you want?"^^ 

Blood said Tito, with a melodramatic snarl. He 
had seen a good deal of melodrama in his time, and he 
knew what ought to be effective on the sort of stage he had 
most patronized in youth. But he was beginning to feel a 
want of earnestness in the i^art he played — the woman ^s 
eyes daunted him, and she had altogether the stronger 
spirit — so that the dramatic monosyllable and the snarl ex- 
cited nothing but an angry ridicule in the signora ^s mind. 

She smiled and waved him away, and there was an ex- 
pression in her smile so terrible that he recoiled a little be- 
fore the sweeping wave of her hand and arm. 

Go,^^ she said. I have business to-night, and I will 
not have my footsteps followed. If I see you again — I am 
in a mood to be dangerous — I shall very probably kill you V ’ 
GoT^ he dared to say. And leave you to meet him?^^ 
Ape and ass!^^ she burst out, advancing against him, 
with outstretched hands. Do I look like a woman on 
a love errand? Go before I do you a mischief. She 
reovered herself from this burst of passion, and turning, 
walked away. After traversing a dozen yards or so, she 
stopped with this warning — If you follow me, I will kill 
you. 

' The time for her encounter with Mark was growing near, 
and though she had no great opinion of the signor's cour- 
age, and believed she had fairly frightened him, there was 


HEARTS: QUEEK;, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 261 

still a chance that he might follow her. The deed she had 
set her mind on w’ould endure no witnesses^ and for the 
misleading of a possible spy, she marched straight past the- 
place of assignation, along the narrow road which led 
through the copse, and straight on by the fields until she 
struck the highway to the north of the village. For a time 
she had disdained to look about her, fancying that Malfi 
might still have kept her within sight, but now she pros- 
pected and the landscape was clear of him. She was 
strange to the country, but she had kept her bearings well, 
and now, breaking through a weak place in the hedge, she 
began to make her way back to the' trysting-place. She 
had scarce retraced a quarter of a mile when she heard a 
footstep in the road on the other side of the hedge, and 
peering through the boughs, she became aware that the 
signor had mustered courage enough to follow. Whether 
it was at this instant his courage failed him she could not 
determine, but his steps grew suddenly irresolute and then 
ceased, so that he stood within five or six yards of her star- 
ing at the ground, and after a second ^s consideration 
turned on his heel and slowly walked back again. Cate- 
rina allowed him to get a start and then followed, keeping 
to her own side of the hedge, accommodating her pace to 
his, and walking in stealthy silence. 

By and by a hedge barred her way, and she walked 
along it seeking a place at which it could be got through. 
The hour of appointment sounded clear and mellow across 
the fields at this moment. If she were right in her reckon- 
ing, she should have been within two or three minutes^ 
walk of the copse, but the height of the mound on which 
the hedge grew prevented even a glimpse of the country 
beyond. She found a gap at last and clambered up to it, 
and there, in the beginning of the twilight, she saw, a 
single field ahead of her, Tom Carroll sitting upon a stile. 
She saw him rise and she saw his cousin Mark come for- 
ward to meet him. She stood with a branch in either 
hand, and watched. Neither of them cast a glance that 
way, and she felt safe from any but the closest observation, 
standing as she did at one side of the gap, with all the body 
of the fiowering hedge between her and the cousins. But 
all the petty obstacles that came in between her and that 
draught of vengeance for which her whole soul thirsted set 
her heart beating and her nerves quivering with the unsat- 


262 HEAETS: QUEE^^^;, KKAVE^, AKD DEUCE. 

isfied desire of liate. So she watched and waited with sav- 
age impatience^, but it was not long before she began to be 
so interested that even hate was content for a few minutes 
with watching. She was too far away to hear the words 
they spoke, but the gestures were eloquent enough to sup- 
ply her with a clew to the character of the conversation, 
and she was not in the least surprised when she saw Tom^s 
stick lash out at Markus face. Then her soul was in her 
eyes as she watched the combat. More than once she felt 
inclined to dash out, and by one stroke put an end to it, 
but when the tide of battle turned and Tom began to win, 
she rejoiced and withheld herself, and watched, and exulted. 

The sole witness of the royal thrashing which terminated 
the scene between Tom and Mark was not aware that she 
Avas being watched in turn, but Malfi was glaring at her 
through the boughs of the hedge in the lane, with the 
savagery and the cowardice of a wolf. So far as he -dared 
he Avould find out what she was doing. Once or twice a 
voice from the fields reached him, and once or twice the 
sound of blows. His ears were exceptionally quick, and he 
was almost sure that one of those voices Avas Mark CarrolTs. 
He had watched for a long time, and the signora had stood 
upon the bank motionless meaiiAvhile. A firm and heavy 
footstep had sounded on the road and had started him from 
his watch, but it had faded out of hearing, and when he 
went back to the break in the hedge Caterina was still 
standing there. Two or three minutes later she had melt- 
ed through the boughs against which she stood (or seemed 
so to melt, for the evening shades were pretty dense by this 
time), and after a pause he moved cautiously along on tip- 
toe until he found a practicable place, and broke silently 
into the field. Eeaching the place on which the signora 
had been perched, he peered stealthily over the mound, and 
in a second or two he made out her figure and the figure of 
a man in the dusky shadoAv of the copse. 

He strained his eyes, but could make out nothing with 
surety, but his suspicions helped him to something very 
like a certain belief in the man^s identity. Caterina and 
the man were talking, but, sharp as his ears Avere, he could 
make out nothing of their speech. The merest murmur 
reached him.- Hate began to stir in him so strongly that 
it lent him courage, and he ran crouching back to the 
road, and then, still crouching, to the copse. Through 


hearts: queek, kkaye, ahd deuce. 263 

this he crawled like a cat, so silently that his progress was 
scarcely audible to himself, and therefore with great slow- 
ness. Now at least he could find out the terms on which 
Caterina and Mark Carroll met. 

The signora had waited at her post of observation until 
she had seen Mark rise first to his knees and then to his 
feet. She saw him walk to the stile and lay his hands upon 
it to steady himself, and then she emerged from her cover 
and crossed the field. When she came up to him he was 
bieathing hard, and now and then a moan. 

Good-evening, Marco, she said quietly, I am afraid 
you are not well.'’^ 

Mark turned his eyes upon her and groaned a curse. 
The signora smiled a ghastly smile, and Mark, straighten- 
ing himself with a prodigious effort, turned and made a 
step or two away from her. She intercepted him, and they 
stood face to face again. 

If you have come here,^^ said Mark, in a groaning 
voice which he could scarcely manage, ‘‘ in the hope of 
getting anything out of me, you have your pains for your 
trouble, and you can go back again. 

He stood there straight before her feeble and helpless, 
and the stiletto was in her right hand beneath her mantle 
ready for use. She hated him well enough, and half won- 
dered that she did not strike the blow. He had spoken in 
English, but she answered him in Italian. 

You lied to me long ago, and you determine to end as 
you began. 

You and that cousin of mine,^’ said Mark, pant- 

ingly, come too pat together not to know of each other, 
I fancy. Such a thrashing as Mark had endured does ]iot 
tend to clear the wits, but he might have known how base- 
less that guess was in reality. That doesnT matter,^^ 
groaned Mark, I shall live to pay him, and as for you, 
you can go to the devil. IVe done with you. Go!^'' 

Where can I go?^^ she asked. She was determined on 
the deed, and yet she had loved him once, and if she could 
have drawn a sign of pity from him, perhaps she might 
have stayed her hand. She told herself in her thoughts 
that he should condemn himself by his own mouth. ‘‘ How 
can I go?’^ 

You can go where you like and how you like,^^ said 
Mark. Let me get by, and be damned to you!^^ 


264 


HEAETS: QTJEEK^ AKB BEUCE. 


If he had tried to harden his heart to the awful task she 
had set herself, he could scarcely have succeeded better. But 
she would test him yet. She knew he must wound her to 
the very quick before she could bear to strike him. Though 
she meant murder all along, she wanted it to feel like jus- 
tice. 

You remember all the oaths you swore to me?^^ she 
asked him. He waited to pass her, and stood in a sullen 
rage, with all the flesh of his back and arm burning and 
stinging and his very bones aching within him. ‘‘You 
remember how you swore, come weal or woe, that you 
would care for me? You remember all the arts you used?^'' 
There was a little crackle in the undergrowth behind 
him, but neither of them noticed it. 

“ Arts?^^ said Mark. “ Let me get by and put an end 
to this. There were precious few arts needed to catch a 
bird of your feather, my lady. 

“ Yet you thought it worth your while to use them,^^ 
answered Caterina, making one step forward. 

Mark broke out with a curse. “Let me by, or — If 
I lay my hands on you, youTl remember it. Let me get 
by. She faced him without moving hand or foot. “ Let 
me pass,^^ said Mark, “ or Ifll throttle you. I never laid 
my hands on a wanton yet, but — 

He was down with a husky yell, and across his prostrate 
body Tito Malfi and Caterina were glaring at each other. 


OHAPTEK XXVL 

When Mark Carroll recovered consciousness he was in 
bed in his own room in his uncle^s house, a nurse was 
standing at a table, and the face of the chief medico of the 
county town was bending over him. The wounded man 
remembered in a flash everything that had happened. He 
tried to speak, and could not make a sound; but the doctor 
saw his pale lips move and bent his head to listen. Mark, 
seeing this, tried again, and just managed to whisper — 

“ Am I going to die?'’^ 

“ You must not agitate yourself, Mr. Carroll,^^ said the 
doctor. Mark’s lips formed the words over again. 
“ Everything,” said the doctor, “ depends upon your own 
courage and quiet.” 


HEAETS: QUEEE*^ KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


265 


Most medical men have a way of pooh-poohing the dread 
of death in a patient, but this particular man had religious 
scruples which may not have made him a better doctor, but 
were matters of stern conscience with him. Mark lay still, 
comprehending the gravity of the situation. He was too 
weak for much resolution, but he made up his mind then 
and there that he would not die if he had any voice in the 
matter. A man who can find strength to make up his 
mind upon that question rarely dies, but days passed by 
.before it could be said that Mark was out'of danger. 

In the meantime Tom had got back to town, burning 
and occasionally fiaming with anger. To have thrashed 
Mark was no relief to him. He did not desire to thrash 
him again, but recognized the uselessness of revenge as an 
anodyne in such a case as this. Perhaps Marks's villainy 
was phenomenal — at all events his cousin thought it so, 
and he could never think of it without thinking also of the 
benefits which he had heaped on Mark in the days of his 
own prosperity. 

He had reached London by a. train which left the county 
town after midnight, and his disordered condition escaped 
notice at Montague Gardens; but when Baretti saw him 
next day he had a fine black eye, and his mouth was ludi- 
crously puffed on one side. The knuckles of his right hand 
were so cut about that he had to wear a glove to conceal 
the wounds. The painter noticed all these things silently, 
and waited for Tom to begin his story. 

You were right, Baretti, said the youngster at length. 
I donH care to talk about it, I taxed him — something 
came out down there — and I taxed him with it all. He 
made no pretense of an excuse, but admitted everything at 
once. We had a fight, and I thrashed him as long as I 
could lift my arm. Now let us forget him.^^^ 

That was more easily said than done, though, in spite of 
the volcanic rage which sometimes rose within him, he 
spoke no more of Cousin Mark. The black eye and swollen 
lip kept him prisoner for some days, and he neglected the 
daily papers as a rule, otherwise he might have heard curi- 
ous news. The daily papers throughout England, from the 
Times to the Mudpool Evening Echo,^^ informed each 
its section of the public that Mr. Mark Carroll, of Trench 
House, Overhill, had been found lying in one of his nucleus 
fields within three hundred yards of his nucleus gates, with 


266 


hearts: queeh, kkave, akd deuce. 


signs of terrible violence upon Ms person, and an ivory- 
handled dagger of curious design stuck in his breast. Hopes 
were entertained of the unfortunate gentleman^s recovery, 
and the police had a definite clew to the perpetrator "of 
the crime. In these circumstances it might seem curious 
that no arrests were made, but after the first day or so 
the injured gentleman was himself responsible for that 
fact. 

Being suppos^^d by the medical man to be strong enough 
to be questioned as to the perpetrator of the deed, Mark 
answered nothing but this — 

Tell me when I am out of danger. 

The doctors looked gravely at each other and avoided 
Mr. CarrolFs eye. The whole village of Overhill was ab- 
solutely certain as to the personality of the criminal, but 
by common tacit consent the old man was left to his own 
guesses. Where his suspicions were cast no man knew for 
certain, but his jdump features wizened, and his rosy cheeks 
grew white, his proud head drooped, and he walked with a 
piteous uncertainty for so pompous and lofty a man. How 
and then an unconscious groan would escape “him, and 
whilst Markus fate was uncertain he scarcely eat or drank 
or slept. All this might grow out of concern for his 
nephew, but most people fancied that a breath of the popu- 
lar suspicion had touched him. 

Humber twenty Montague Crescent was watched night 
and day, and the police kept a hand above Tom Carroll 
ready to sweep down on him at any moment. At last 
the moment came. 

Cousin Mark had always been inclined to laugh at the 
popular cant about conscience; and death-bed repentances 
had always seemed to his firm and logical mind cowardly 
and useless.\ If there were a Deity at all — and Mark took 
leave to have a doubt upon that question — it must be ex- 
tremely difficult to hoodwink Him, and He would scarcely 
think the better of a villain for adding cowardice to his list 
of vices. Whilst in full possession of health and strength 
the young man had been a downright atheist, on the 
grounds of reason and common sense, but now there in-' 
truded upon his mind a chilly dread. Suppose he had been 
wrong after all? This mental condition is common enough 
in the circumstances, and many divines have built argu- 
ments upon it. The existence of the fact proves itself and 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


267 


nothing more, and Markus mind, awakened as he was, was 
quick to see the fallacy of the theologian^ s trick. I^m 
afraid, said Mark to himself. Well? What does that 
prove? That I am afraid. But for all that he lay for a 
day or two and faced the one awful mystery which all men 
have to face in turn, chaste or lascivious, honest or roguish, 
true or false. The great insoluble, terrible problem stared 
at him, and he at it, and in spite of his stout unbelief he 
trembled. For he had a crime in his mind compared with 
which the peccadilloes of which he had been guilty seemed 
as nothing, and at this time he quailed before the prompt- 
ings of his own vengeance. If he had died he would have 
gone to the grave in silence, with his lips sealed by a fear 
which he strove in vain to deride as a superstition. But 
when at the end of five weary days and nights the doctors 
gave him the assurance that his life was no longer in dan- 
ger, his courage came back to him. Even then when they 
renewed their questions, he answered — 

“ I am not strong enough to speak about it yet. Give 
me a day or two to grow strong in. 

They urged that in the meantime the criminal might 
escape, but he only shook his head with a very weak smile 
and declined a verbal answer. So they were compelled to 
let him alone and to bide his time. In the end he confided 
in the local doctor. 

Is anybody suspected?^ ^ he asked, when the nurse had 
been turned out of the room and the door had been locked. 

Yes,^^ said the doctor. There is a very general sus- 
picion.'’^ 

If I had died instead of recovering as I have done,^'’ 
said Mark, it would have been a hanging matter, I sup- 
pose?'’'’ ^ 

In all probability,^'’ the doctor answered. 

That,^^ said Mark, was^vhy I held my tongue. But, 
now, I don^t think that any mawkish personal considera- 
tion ought to operate. Society must be protected. 
Talking, even now, was a business of some difficulty, and he 
had to make frequent pauses. Tell me who is sus- 
pected?'’'’ 

Your unfortunate cousin, said the surgeon. 

Oh!'’'’ said Mark, with a sigh. Is there any evidence 
against him?'’^ 


S68 HEAETS: QUEEK, KKATE^ AKE DEECE. 

The surgeon told the common talk^ based on Leggatt^s 
narrative;, and swollen a little from its first dimensions. 

Poor Tom!'’^ said Mark. I never thought his evil 
passions would have carried him so far. He stabbed his 
best friend, old fellow, in more senses than one when he 
stabbed me. I couldn^t lie here and think of his going to 
the gallows over it, and so I thought it best to be quiet. 
IPs an awful scandal. Can^t we keep it dark after all? 
My poor old uncle ! — one of the finest fellows in the world ! 
— it will break his heart. Break the news to him gently, 
Morton. Hoes he suspect already?^ ^ 

‘‘We fear so,^'’ said the doctor. "What a man this Mark 
Carroll was — the surgeon thought. Lying in the face of 
death for days and only planning to shield his murderous 
assailant by silence and to protect the honor of the family. 
Even now he thought more of his uncle than himself. 
When Mr. Morton, general practitioner, left Trench 
House, he eulogized Markus conduct right and left, and 
people began to think of him as a quite angelic young man. 

But before the doctor left he spoke with Mr. Carroll. 

“ I ha^^e had an interview withjyour nephew, he began. 
“ I am happy to tell you that he is in a fair way to com- 
plete recovery. Most happily the blade missed the vital 
organ. ^ ^ 

‘‘ I am glad to know that, sir,^^ said Mr. Carroll. “ Ex- 
tremely glad to know that.'’^ The surgeon lingered for a 
time without saying anything, and the master of the house 
looked up at him. “ Have you anything to add to that 
communication?^'’ 

“ I have to perform a task of great difficulty, sir,'’'’ said 
the surgeon, tremulously. It falls to the lot of a doctor to 
break bad news oftener, perhaps, than to the lot of any 
other man in the world, but Mr. Morton was not old, and 
his present task was unlike any in his experience, and 
looked dreadful. “ Your nephew has confided to me the 
secret he has kept since the night of the attempt upon his 
life. He has requested me to — 

“ You may speak out plainly, sir,^^ said Carroll, drawing 
himself to his old height, and looking the surgeon in the 
face. “ In a word — he accuses — whom?^^ 

“ Your son, sir,^^ answered the surgeon. Mr. Carroll 
inclined his head in stern self-government and assent. 

“ I was not unprepared for such a revelation,^ ^ he 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AKB DEUCE. 269 

answered. His features twitched and quivered, and every- 
thing in the room was gray to him as if a sudden fog h^ 
spread about him, but he stood upright and took the blow 
like a man. He had given up loving Tom a long time 
ago. It had been a long time since he had loved anybody, 
but his family pride, like his personal pride, had been pro- 
digious. The certainty which now followed on suspicion 
crushed that pride, and crushed him with it, but he was 
resolute to conceal his anguish, and to play the Spartan. 
People had always had a right to admire him and wonder 
at him. They should have it still. 

He unlocked a private drawer and took from it a paper, 
upon which he wrote the day of the month. It was a 
printed form, otherwise filled in already at the blank 
places, and he read the whole thing through whilst the sur- 
geon stood looking on in amazement at his stoicism. Car- 
roll held a quill pen in his hand, and this went hovering 
above the lines as he read them. The hand looked steady, 
but the quivering plume told how tense the nerves were, 
and by what an intense effort the palsied shaking was sup- 
pressed. When the wretched father had read through the 
document, he took up an unneeded piece of blotting-paper 
and dabbed at the words he had written a minute or two 
before, though they were as dry as the rest. 

I shall do my duty, sir,^^ he said, turning round upon 
his companion. The doctor saw that his eyes were blood- 
shot, though a minute or two before they had been clear. 

This is a warrant for the apprehension of Thomas Carroll 
on a charge of attempted murder. Cutting and wounding 
with intent to do bodily ha,rm, is the legal phrase employed. 

I shall do my duty. Oblige me by ringing the bell, if you 
please, sir.^^ 

The surgeon obeyed without moving his eyes from Car- 
rolPs face. 

I shall do my duty,^^ said the miserable man again. 
He spoke like an automaton. A servant appearing in 
answer to the summons, he turned his bloodshot eyes upon 
him, and with the same unnatural voice and manner said. 

Tell John Hard to get the dog-cart ready and then come 
to me. The man bowed and disappeared. I shall do 
my duty. 

He folded the warrant and put it in an envelope, the 
paper rustling noisily in the silence of the room. In 


hearts: queek, khave, and deuce. 

answer to a tap at the door he cried, Come in/^ and the 
servant re-entered. Well?^^ inquired his master. 

‘‘You told me to come to you, sir, when I had given 
Hard your orders. 

“ I told you to send Hard to me,'’^ returned Mr. Qarroll, 
with frosty majesty, “ when he had got the dog-cart ready. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir.^^ The servant retired again, 
closing the door noiselessly. 

“ I shall do my duty,^^ said the master of the house for 
the fourth time. The persistent iterance of this phrase 
alarmed the surgeon as much as the blood-shot eyes, the 
swollen veins in the temples, and the palsied rustling of 
the paper in a hand that looked as steady as a rock. 
“ Pray direct this envelope for me, Mr. Morton,^'" said 
Carroll, after a pause. “ Mr. Superintendent Lewis, 
Police Station, Fernock.^^ 

The surgeon with a shaky hand wrote down the address 
dictated, and for a minute or two there was silence. It 
seemed a long time before the groom came to take the 
letter. 

“ Drive with this to Fernock with all possible speed, 
said Mr. Carroll. The groom took it and withdrew. “ I 
have done my duty, said the wretched man, and at that 
moment the doctor ran forward and caught him in his 
arms. 

There was no necessity for alarming the house, and the 
surgeon^ s nerves were tranquil and his brain cool again 
now that he had work to do. Bodily agony — bodily trouble 
of any sort — was a thing he had ceased to be afraid of, 
but the mental pain he had inflicted was more than he 
could easily endure to look at. He took off the patient^ s 
stiff and old-fashioned satin stock, opened his collar, laid 
his head back, and sprinkled his face with cold water. It 
was perhaps as well for Mr. Carroll that he had fainted. 
A little more of that pretended stoicism, and it might have 
ended in apoplexy, for he had a tendency that way. 

He came round in time and sat up weak and quivering. 
An hour went by before the surgeon thought it safe to 
leave him, and then the news of Markus declaration went 
through the village like wild-fire. 

Mark himself had had plenty of time to weigh the pros 
and cons before he finally decided upon this wicked lie of 
his. There were many cogent reasons in its favor. For 


hearts: qiteek, knave, and deuce. 


271 


one thing, Tom had given him such a thrashing as mortal 
man rarely receives, and Mark wanted revenge for it. 
Again, to mention the signora would be to provoke inquiry 
as to his past relations with that young person, and to 
have her arrested would be to publish in an assize court a 
statement about himself which would infallibly ruin him 
with his uncle. He would have liked to be revenged upon 
the signora also, but that could wait. One thing at a time. 
He could pay Tom for that tremendous hiding wifli which 
his bones yet ached, and at the same move he could get rid 
of him as a rival for the Trench House estates at once and 
forever. 

Whilst he had the fear of death before his eyes, he could 
not find courage for his supreme rascality, but now that he 
was safe, he could survey it calmly and quietly enough. 
The prospect of such a vengeance as he planned would 
have excited some people, and have retarded recovery; 
Mark took it tranquilly. It soothed him to think of it, 
and he began to mend rapidly. 

Mr. Superintendent Lewis, happening to be within when 
John Hard arrived with Mr. CarrolFs missive, opened it at 
once, cast his eye over it, put it in his pocket-book, in- 
structed his wife to pack his portmanteau, and set out by 
the next train for London. He arrived there in the early 
evening, announced himself at Scotland Yard, and in com- 
pany with a town ofiicer, drove in a four-wheeled cab to 
Montague Gardens. The cabman, pursuant to instruc- 
tions, pulled up at Number Twenty, and the two alighted. 

Mr. Superintendent Lewis rang the bell. 

Hoes Mr. Carroll live here, my dear?^^ 

The two officers were in plain clothes, and the girl fired 
up at the address. 

“ HonT my dear me, if you please,""^ she said. What 
do you want with Mr. Carroll? What name?^^ 

Mr. Superintendent Lewis walked in. The London 
officer followed, closing the door behind him. 

Sorry to bring unpleasant news,^^ said the superin- 
tendent. We are officers of the law, my dear, and I have 
a warrant for Mr. CarrolHs apprehension.^^ 

Stuff and nonsense cried the girl, trembling. There 
was not a creature in the house by whom Tom Carroll was 
not beloved. 


272 hearts: queeh, khave^, and deuce. 

Kerens my authority/^ said the official, calmly. 

Show ns up, there^s a good girl, and let us have it over/^ 

The girl held on to the stair-rail for a moment, and then, 
rallying her forces, led the way. She indicated the door, 
and the superintendent tapped at it. Tom CarrolFs voice 
called Come in,^^ and the two men entered. Tom and 
Baretti were sitting on opposite sides of the fire. 

Mr. Carroll?''^ said the superintendent, looking in- 
quiringly from one to the other. 

Well?^^ asked Tom, rising. 

It is my duty to arrest you, sir,""^ said the officer, on 
a charge of maliciously wounding with intent. I hope 
youTl come quietly. 

^^Maliciously wounding cried Tom. ^^Maliciously 
wounding whom?^^ 

Mr. Mark Carroll, of Trench House, Overhill, on the 
evening of the twenty-ninth ult.,^^ responded the officer. 

My name^s Lewis — Superintendent Lewis, of Fernock. 
This gentleman is from Scotland Yard. Tom and Bar- 
etti were staring at each other. I should advise you to 
say nothing at present, added the officer, in obedience to 
instructions for such cases made and provided. You 
may make any statement you like, but it is my duty to tell 
you that anything you say will be taken down and used 
against you on your trial. 

‘^Maliciously wounding said Tom again. “They 
can^t define that as maliciously wounding. 

“ Well, I don^t know, sir,^^ returned the superintendent 
using a toothpick with great sang froid, but keeping a care- 
ful eye upon his man. “ Six inches of cold steel into 
him.^^ 

“ What?^^ cried the prisoner, with face and voice of 
horror and amazement. 

“Found at 9:10 on the evening of the twenty-ninth 
ult.,^^ said the officer, quietly, “ at the edge of Marston^s 
Spinney, at Overhill, with the blade of an ivory-handled 
dagger sticking in him. 

“ Who accuses me?'’^ asked Tom. 

“I don^t rightly know,^^ returned the superintendent, 
“ but I suppose it^s the gentleman himself. 

“ Carroll, cried Baretti, “ you are innocent. Tell me 
you are innocent. 

“ Yes,^^ said Tom, “lam innocent. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KJSTAYE, AND DEUCE. 


273 


I hope you^ll prove it so at the proper quarter/^ said 
Mr. Lewis, tranquilly polite. I must trouble you to 
come, sir, if you please. You’ll want to take a few things 
with you, perhaps. , I dare say the young woman we saw 
outside could pack you a handbag or something of that 
kind.” 

I will do it,” said Baretti, and he went into the next 
room with his head whirling. Was Tom guilty? It 
would be miserable if he were, but to Baretti ’s mind by no 
means unnatural. The painter was as tender-hearted a 
little man as any in the world, but he would have dreaded 
the temptation of standing before Mark Carrol with a dag- 
ger ready to his own hand. He had seen Tom enraged 
once, and he remembered now how his nature had seemed 
to change with the passion of his anger. The officer from 
Scotland Yard looked in to hurry tlie process of packing, 
arid found Baretti sitting on the edge of the bed the pict- 
ure of bewilderment and misery. 

I’ll give the gentleman a helping hand,” he said to his 
confrere^ and then advancing, Come, come, sir,” he 
added to Baretti, this won’t do no good. Point out to 
me what to take, and I’ll put the things up.” 

Baretti half rnechanically threw open a wardrobe and 
began to lay out linen and underclothing. Next he found 
a small portmanteau, and the official began to pack the 
things neatlv into it. 

You will want your dressing-case, Carroll?” asked 
Baretti, through the open door- way. 

Yes,” said Tom, mechanically. 

Baretti produced it, and the man looked into it, and 
shook his head at the razors. 

All right,” he said, fastening the case with a snap, 
they’ll take care of ’em at the station. That all, sir? 
Come along.” He carried the things into the next room, 
and set them down in an arm-chair. 

Carroll,” cried the painter, darting at his friend and 
seizing him by both arms, can you recall everything that 
took place that night? Are you sure of everything?” 

Yes,” said Tom, I am sure of everything.” 

And you used no weapon?” 

I broke my walking-stick over him,” cried Tom, with 
some of the old rage rising in his cheek and glittering in 
his eye, but I used no other weapon. ” 


274 


hearts: queeh, khave, and deuce. 


He harmed another man as much as you, or nearly,^ ^ 
said Baretti. Carroll! I see Malfi^s hand in this/^ 

I would say no more if I were in your place, sir,^^ said 
the superintendent. Timers precious, too, and I must 
ask you to come along. 

May I come with you?^^ asked Baretti. 

That^s as you like,^^ returned the officer. But you 
can do no good, so far as I can see. 

Baretti ^s mention of Malfi had set Tom thinking. 
Baretti, he said suddenly, “the. signora was there 
that day. Trace her if you can. My hands are tied. I 
can do nothing. I am in deep waters, Baretti. Help 
me. 


“ I would lay down my life for you/^ said Baretti, with 
tears in his eyes at this appeal. “ Fear nothing, Carroll. 
I will be cunning in your cause, and strong and untiring. 
I told you that one day I would repay you. By God^s 
help, Carroll, 1 will pay you now.'’^ 

The two wrung each other hard by both hands, and the 
superintendent stepped between them with a something 
that clattered a little and glittered in the lamplight. 

“ Is that necessary?^ ^ asked Tom. “ I will go quietly. 

“ Very well, sir, said the officer, I am willing to 
make things as pleasant as I can.'’^ He signed to Baretti, 
“ Do you mind carrying those things down, sir? YouTl 
find a four-wheeler at the door. How, sir,^^ to Tom, 
“ if youTl allow this gentleman your arm ITl take the 
other. 


Baretti took up his wideawake hat and put it on, then 
took up the portmanteau and the dressing-case and walked 
down-stairs. The maid, the landlady, and her husband 
were standing beneath the lamp in the hall. The girl 
opened the door for him and whispered as he passed, 

“ Is it true, sir? Is Mr. Carroll arrested?^^ 

He nodded gloomily and passed on. A moment later 
the two officers with their captive arm-in-arm between 
them came somewhat clumsily down the stairs, which were 
not quite wide enough for a procession so arranged. The 
landlady burst into tears at the sight, and wrung her 
hands. She knew of Tomb’s monetary misfortunes, at least 
in part, by this time. 

“Oh! Mr. Carroll, sir, what is it? If Ik’s money, sir. 


HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 275 

here^s Walker ready, sir, if it^s a bill of sale on the very 
furniture. 

That^s extremely good of you, ma^am,^^ said the 
superintendent, but it isn^t money. Let us get away, 
ma^am, if you please. 

The two hurried Tom into the cab, and Baretti followed. 
Not a word was spoken by the way, but at the police sta- 
tion the friends were parted. 

Trace Signor Malfi,^^ were Tom^s last words to him. 

Carroll, cried the painter, I 2vill leave no stone 
unturned. Good-bye. Be brave. Tom went quietly 
away with a policeman in his rear, and Baretti, half blind- 
ed with tears, walked into the street. “ I will save you,^’ 
he said. I will save you. Best of friends, best of men, 
unhappiest, I will save you.^^ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The signora was back in London, and had brought with 
her the ghost she dreaded. All daylong and all night long 
she struck the blow over again, and Markus husky shriek 
answered it, his body fell at her feet, and Malfi glared into 
her eyes across it. The blow, the cry, the fall, the glance 
followed each other without pause or break, whether she 
were in the streets amongst the grinding noises of the town 
or in her own chamber with all sounds locked out. Whether 
she read, sewed, walked, eat, slept, it was all one. She 
struck the blow, Mark shrieked and dropped, and she was 
staring at Malfi. It had all been done in three seconds, 
and every three seconds did it over again. She was not 
sorry, she was not afraid, or softened, but the burden of 
this continued iteration was tremendous and scarcely to be 
borne. The constant series of recurring images and sound 
did not shut out thought, or, in any way, beyond its awful 
grating on the nerves, unfit her for the common uses of 
life. 

Malfi fled and she followed him. He would have dis- 
tanced her and got clear away, but for a heavy tumble in 
the first score of yards. When she came up with him he was 
half dead with terror until he saw that her hands were 
empty, and even then he knelt quaking in the grass, with 
his clasped hands quivering before him. 


276 hearts: qtjeek, kkave^ akd deuce* 

Get up^ coward she said^ disdainfully. Are you 
jealous now?^^ 

“ You have killed him/’ gasped Signor Malfi. 

Hold your tongue/’ said the signora. You are no 
safer than I am. I swear that if you do not help me away 
I will charge you with the crime. You came prepared to 
kill him. You threatened him in my hearing. Give me 
what money you have and let me go.” 

He shook before her and implored her incoherently whilst 
he fumbled in his pockets. It was perfectly true that he 
had thought himself ripe for murder, but then he had 
never looked at it. To have stood by, to have seen the 
blow and heard the yell that answered it, and then to have 
caught those eyes with murder in them suddenly fixed on 
his — all this was experience, and his ideas of himself under 
such conditions had been merely theoretical hitherto. The 
signora’s threat terrified him, and he knew her now as 
being capable of anything. 

Let me keep a little to get away with/’ he implored 
her, holding out in one shaky hand a purse and a handful 
of jingling silver in the other. Caterina took the purse. 

“We are safest apart,” she said. “ Take your way, 
and I will take mine. ” 

With that she turned and walked swiftly away, and it 
was at that moment she began to strike the blow and hear 
the cry again. She found a road and followed it, hiding 
once or twice at the sound of footsteps. At the end of 
five miles she found a railway station and took train for 
London. She had an hour or two to wait in the county 
town, and the train which carried Tom Carroll bore her 
also. At the terminus she saw him alight, and she lin- 
gered until he had gone lest she should be seen and recog- 
nized. She took a room in an Italian colfee-house, and 
lived there for days. Signor Malfi’s purse was well 
stocked, and she was provided for for many weeks to come. 

Tom Carroll never saw the daily papers, but the signora 
began to spell them through with great eagerness on the 
morning of her return to town. On the first day the jour- 
nal was dumb on the matter in which she was interested. 
On the morning of the second day, she learned that Mr. 
Mark Carroll, nephew of Mr. Thomas Carroll, J.P., of 
Trench House, Overhill, had been stabbed and lay in a 
precarious condition. She learned also that the police had 


hearts: QITEEK;, kkave^ akd deuce. 


277 - 


a clew, and this, since she was ignorant of the ways of 
British police and British journals, alarmed her as it would 
have alarmed no practical criminal. She half decided on 
flight, but lay still, partly through fear of the danger of 
running away. Every morning she spelled through her 
daily paper until she found the thing she looked for, and 
at last she learned that her victim was on the way to re- 
covery, and had accused his cousin, who was under arrest 
for attempted murder. This presented no puzzle to the 
signora, who had had so much experience of the yearning 
for revenge that she could understand its operations in 
other people. She recognized a sort of mastery of general- 
ship in the maneuver. Mark would crush his cousin that 
way, and would seat himself more firmly than ever on his 
throne at Overhill, and he would get besides a full revenge 
for the thrashing Tom had given him. He despised her 
for the meantime, and could afford to forego one revenge 
to feed upon another. She would rather that he had 
turned and struck at her. She had loved him, she had 
hated him, she had tried to kill him. In answer he ignored 
her, and that was tenfold more hateful than any revenge 
he could have taken. 

She was not sorry that he was alive. When you hate> 
as the signora hated, you create an unbearable blank in 
life by removing the object of your passion. She had him 
still to hate, and that was something. To have killed him 
every day would have been a regal pleasure, but you can 
not have your cake and eat it, often. For once she had 
tasted vengeance, and it was in her power to taste it again. 
How to get at it? 

Her own instinct told her, hut she feared the road. Samp- 
son (though the signora knew nothing of that history) 
crushed himself to kill his enemies. Her rage led her that 
way, but as yet it was hardly strong enough, and the time 
was not yet ripe. She would wait and see. 

She lay close, therefore, and every day she sjDelled through 
her copy of the morning paper, until at last she lighted on 
the thing she sought. Tom Carroll had undergone his first 
examination, had denied the charge, and had been remand- 
ed without bail. When the signora could not understand 
a word, she asked the people at her lodging-house and had 
it explained, a course which made it manifest that she took 
strong interest either in general or particular police pro- 


278 HEARTS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

ceedings. Perhaps it was not an uncommon symptom 
there, but nobody seemed greatly to notice it. The days 
went on, and Mr. Mark Carroll was sufficiently recovered 
from the effects of the murderous attack made upon him 
by the defendant to appear in court, where he swore that 
it was his cousin^ s hand, and no other, which struck the 
blow. The signora read, though she attached no signifi- 
cance to the statement, that Mr. Lording was in court. 
The prisoner was defended, but called no witnesses. The 
testimony of the prosecutor remained unshaken — the pris- 
oner was formally committed to take his trial, and bail was 
refused. Mark was on his way to a perfect triumph. The 
signora was on the way to vengeance, but at every step she 
counted the cost and trembled. None the less she was on 
the way. 

Baretti was not idle all this time, but his hands were 
tied, and he could do nothing that seemed to be of use. 
He went down to Overhill and made inquiries in person, 
and thereby discovered that two people answering to the 
description of Signor Malfi and the signora had been in the 
village on the day of the attack. He engaged privately 
the services of the police, and set one or two active men to 
look for Tito and Caterina, and, in that way, spent a good 
deal of money to no purpose. When the authorities allowed 
of it he saw Tom Carroll and tried to cheer him, but he 
found that work too heavy for his own foreboding heart. 
The passion of his love and gratitude for his preserver had 
come back in full tide upon him, and whilst these troub- 
lous times endured Tom was of more value to liim even 
than his love. 

‘‘ I will be loyal, he would say to himself at times. I 
will be loyal. I will be lo^^al. It was not his fault that 
the devil tempted him with visiojis of Tom Carroll’s last 
chance of Mary’s love destro3^ed. The temptation only 
made him loathe himself. It never shook him for a single 
instant; its baseness was too open and too palpable. 

The time of the trial drew near, and he had as yet doiie 
nothing of real service to his friend. He was abroad in 
the streets of London, wandering miserably in the early 
night-time, when the lamps were newly lighted and the 
town was like a dream. He had walked for some hours, 
not caring in what direction his unguided footsteps led him, 
and standing suddenly still to look about liim, he fomid 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


279 


that he had walked beyond his own knowledge, and was in 
a part of the city which was strai: ge to him. A figure fiut- 
tered across the street out of shadow into light, and swiftly 
out of light into shadow again. It came dimly to his mind 
that this had happened once or twice before, but he was in 
a condition altogether dream-like, and many sleepless nights 
had combined with his anxieties to drug intelligence. It 
did not seem worth while to ask his way. He Avas likely 
enough to come on a place he knew by and by, or if he 
did not he was in no hurry to get home, and a hansom cab 
was always to be found. His unconscious footsteps took 
him on again, and a singular half-consciousness grew upon 
him (as it grows upon us in our dreams) that something 
near at hand was following and tracking him. This fancy 
developing quite suddenly into a fear, he' turned short 
round, and a figure fluttered into the dark behind him, but 
not before an almost certain recognition had set his heart 
beating. He ran in the direction of the flying figure, and 
now every nerve in his body was alert. It amazed him 
when the fugitive stopped suddenly and faced him beneath 
a gas-lamp. He paused before her panting (not with the 
chase, |or that was too brief to have put him out of breath), 
and seized the signora by both wrists. She made no effort 
to remove his hold, but stood panting back at him, though 
he knew that (Avhen he had time to think about it after- 
ward) more from the look upon her face than any other 
sign he noticed. 

We have met at last,^^ she said, in her own language. 

I have followed you many times in the street, but I have 
not dared to speak to you. We have met at last, and I 
must tell you.^^ Then she looked first downward at the 
hands that held her, and then at her captor^ s face, with a 
glance of strange inquiry. Why do you hold me?^^ 

I charge you,^"^ said Baretti, in a voice so husky that 
he could scarcely make himself heard, I charge you with 
the attempted murder of Mark Carroll. 

The lids of her great black eyes drew together, and she 
looked at him through half -closed lashes. You do not 
charge me,""^ she said, and then in a second, with a gesture 
of both hands which freed them from Baretti^s grasp, I 
charge myself. I am my own accuser. Her eyes flashed 
wide again as she spoke, and her bosom rose with a single 
tempestuous heave. Come,''^ she said, where I can 


280 


hearts: queek, kkaye, ahd deuce. 


talk with you. I have followed you for days to tell you, 
but I could never find the courage until now."^^ 

Come to the nearest police-station/^ said Baretti, qui- 
etly. 

‘ No/^ she answered, with a noticeable smile, Not 
there. Why need you grudge me a few words? Can 1 
outrun you even if I were to try? The first policeman we 
pass would take your word against me. I can do better for 
you, better for your friend, and better for myself if you will 
follow my way. Take me to some place where I can talk 
with you. 

The city street was empty, and so sile^in its deserted 
state that the tread of a policeman in me of the roads 
which led out of it was heard distinctly. 

Walk on ’before me,^^ said Baretti. 

I beg of you, I pray of you,^^ she answered, that 
you Vv^ill hear me first. I can not bargain with you, be- 
cause any jDoliceman will take your word against me. Do 
not refuse me.^"' 

I will hear you,^^ said Baretti. Walk on before 
me.'’^ 

She walked on without a word, and the painter followed 
a yard or two behind. They came in a while to streets 
which at that hour were more frequented, and by and by 
a hansom crawled in sight. Baretti hailed it, the signora 
at his signal entered, and the cabman having received in- 
structions, drove to Montague Gardens. Not a word was 
exchanged until the cab drew up, when Baretti took Cate- 
rina by the arm to secure her. 

You are wasting trouble,^ ^ she said then. How can 
I run away? I do not wish to run away. I followed you 
for days to speak to you. 

At that he released her, but kept a wary eye for her 
whilst he paid the man his fare and whilst afterward he un- 
locked the door. Caterina stood on the pavement like a 
statue, and never moved until he motioned to her to enter. 
Then she walked forward tranquilly, and at his bidding 
ascended the stairs. His own room reached, he turned up 
the lamps that glimmered feebly on the mantel-shelf, and 
faced his guest. 

What have you to say to me?^^ he demanded. 

I have to say in the first place, she answered, that 
it was I who tried, to kill your friend^s cousin. When the 


miARTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. ' 281 

right time comes I am willing to tell the whole world, but 
not before. 

The signora was a handsome woman in her way, and at 
this moment, with her southern eyes on fire and her south- 
ern cheeks all pale, her lovely bosom heaving and falling, 
and her large white hands clutched across it as if to keep it 
still, she looked beautiful and terrible. Baretti faced her 
in a suppressed excitement almost equaling her own. 

Let me tell you everything,^ ^ she went on, and then 
you will understand. I was never Titovs wife, and I never 
cared for him very much. He was a poor thing, but in 
his way he loved me, and I was content to go on with him 
until the day when we both met you close at hand here, 
when you and Marco and his cousin were together. You 
remember 

I remember. 

You left Marco with us to do some little business for 
Tito who could not speak English. You remember?^ ^ 

I remember, he said again. 

We met often after that, Marco and she went on, 
and by and by he began to make love, to me, and I be- 
gan to listen to him and believe him. You do not know 
what my life has been. Signor Baretti, and I do not wish 
to tell you. But I had never cared for a man before, and 
he made me love him. He promised me that he would 
take care of me as long as I lived and he lived. I did not 
ask him to marry me, for I would have been contented — 
The heaving breast, clinched hands, and burning eyes 
filled in the pause. I loved him, she went on. 
would have died for him. I would have followed him bare- 
footed round the world, begging my bread, to see him once 
a day. Wbll, he got tired of me, and Tito suspected, and 
went to his rooms one night when I was there. He hid 
me until Tito had gone, and then he told me I might go 
also. I had loved him like a dog, and he sent me away 
like a dog. I saw then what manner of a man I had loved, 
and he sent me into the street knowing that I should be 
liomeless there. Well, I can hate as well as I can love, and 
after a long time I made up my mind that I would kill 
him. Then that looked too terrible. 

She paused again, and Baretti was still silent. 

He had been so base,^^ she pursued, that a mean re- 
venge seemed to suit my hatred of him. His cousin, who 


282 


HEARTS: QUEEK^ KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


is a stupid good young man, your friend, had been cast 
away by his father, and I have found out why, because I 
was there at the Concert Hall when the thing happened. 
I thought if his father is so severely good as to cast off his 
own son for nothing, M'hat will he do with Marco when he 
knows the truth about him? So I went to expose Marco. 

She tired to moisten her dry lips with a tongue as dry as 
themselves, and Baretti poured out a glass of wine from a 
decanter on the table, and pushed it across to her. She 
took it witn an inclination of the head, drank it off, and 
set down the glass. 

I met him near his uncle^s house, and I told him wliy 
I was there. He laughed at me, and jeered me. ‘ You,'’ 
he said, ‘ are the cast-olf mistress of my cousin, and you 
are here to try to wreck my fortunes. But nobody will be- 
lieve you, and everybody will believe me. Go home again. 
I will not be hard with you. Meet me at evening, and I 
will give you money to go back with. ^ I had told him I 
had no money, and could not return. I bade him farewell 
for the time, and I went away desperate, having but one 
road to my revenge left open. I looked at my stiletto often 
that afternoon, but I should not have used it if it had not 
been — He spoke words to me which nobody but a hound 
uses. I saw your friend meet him whilst I waited. I saw 
your friend flog him like a slave.'’'’ 

She enjoyed this recollection even now, terrible as the 
moment was, and Baretti saw as much. 

They fought at first, but Marco was beaten, and the 
poor innocent acted like a man. When he had broken his 
stick he left off and went away. Then it became my turn, 
and I went up and spoke to Marco. Up till then I had 
been hidden, and neither of them had seen me. I need 
not tell you what happened then. Even then, if he had 
cared to be kind, I could not have struck him. I thought 
he was dead when I came away. '’ ^ 

Her bosom heaving with a slow tempestuous swell, she 
stood silent, and at length Baretti was constrained to speak. 

All this is what I knew or guessed before. If you have 
nothing more to tell me, I must give you up at once to 
justice. For me,^^ he added, with a momentary flash in 
his black eyes, you might go free as air, but I have my 
friend to save and his enemy to punish.'’^ 

His enemy to punish!'’^ cried the woman, in a passion 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


283 


so sudden and vivid that he started at it as he might have 
done at a flash of lightning. His punishment is in my 

hands.'''’ She cooled again. Why have I stayed in Eng- 
land, do you think. Signor Baretti?^^ He could have an- 
swered that question from the tone in which she put it, 
and the fire that gleamed in her eyes. I could have been 
away safe from pursuit long ago, for Tito had given me 
money, and nobody at first suspected me. Why did I fol- 
low you day after day? Do you think I do not know what 
I am going to? I will tell you, signor, 3vliy I stayed. 
When I found he was not dead, I saw that I had not tlirown 
away all my revenge for a minute^ s rage. I know why he 
charged his cousin with the crime. It is his last blow to 
crush him, and he thinks that he himself is safe. Now I 
wait — for what? To hear him speak his lie before the 
whole world, and when his lie has triumphed to stand up 
there and drag him down with it and ruin him. 

He has deserved all that,^" said Baretti, half to him- 
self, and more.^^ 

Yes,^" she answered, calm and quiet again, he has 
deserved it. 

The painter threw himself into a chair and reviewed the 
situation. The signora, uninvited, poured out and drank 
a second glass of wine, and then bestowed herself upon a 
sofa. Baretti, looking once or twice to where she sat in 
shadow, could see her eyes gleaming, though he could not 
make out another feature of her face. 

You are sure,^^ he said, rising and confronting her 
after a lengthy pause, that you are strong enough in your 
resolution to carry it to the end?^^ 

I am sure of that,^^ she answered. 

I am not sure,"" said Baretti. 

If you knew how to hate,"" returned the lady, placidly 
enough, you would be."" 

Possibly,"" returned the painfcer. You will under- 
stand, signora, that I have no personal quarrel with you. 
If Mr. Mark Carroll had died, and my friend had been in 
danger, I should see you hanged to release him very gladly, 
but otherwise I should not have been sorry to see you es- 
cape, and, knowing what I know, might even have been 
tempted to assist you. I am sorry to incommode you, but 
I distrust your resolution, and if I refrain from giving you 
up to the proper authorities at once, I must at least see 


284 


hearts: queek^ kkave, aetd deuce. 


you in safe keeping. A very excellent person happens to 
be known to me, the wife of an English officer of police. 
She is a person of resolution and courage equal to your 
own, and I think I may intrust you to her keeping. I am 
afraid you must consent to be locked up in the interim. 
Or better still — I had an interview with Mr. Thomas Car- 
rolFs lawyer this afternoon, and learned from him that he 
would be at his offices until long past the present hour. 
We will consult him, and we will be bound by his advice.'’^ 

I will go anywhere, and do anything, said the sign- 
ora, rising and drawing her mantle about her, if you 
will promise me one thing. Signor, I am in your power, 
and I can not make conditions. I can only beg. I)o not 
rob me of this one thing. Let Marco accuse his cousin be- 
fore he knows that I am ready to deny him. 

I think we can secure so much for you, signora,^ ^ said 
Baretti. In the meantime will you accompany me?^^ 

He turned down the lamps again, and he and the sigii- 
ora left the house together unobserved. Baretti "s heart 
beat high with triumph, and the vengeance the signora 
proposed to take upon Mark seemed to him — for he, 
though a high-minded and most chivalrous person in most 
things, was not a finished Christian — suitable and befitting. 
For the present at least, he had no fear of Cater ina^s reso- 
lution, and no doubt of the honesty of her professions. He 
drove her to the offices of the man of law who had Tom 
CarrolTs case in charge, and for once in his life an old 
criminal solicitor confessed himself amazed. 

The criminal solicitor, whose name was Cohen, had an 
eagle beak and an eagle eye. He v/as not a finished Chris- 
tian any more than Baretti, and when once he had grasped 
the story, he hailed the chance for a grand theatrical coup 
such as it offered with much gratification. 

Does the young woman speak English?'’^ he asked, 
turning an admiring eye on the signora, who sat in a dusky 
corner of his room. ‘‘ Women, Mr. Baretti, are not to be 
handled like men, and I entirely agree with you that this 
young person should be taken care of until the time arrives 
at which we can make use of her evidence. In the mean- 
time we had better take her whilst she is in the mind, and 
make her sign a statement. Wait a moment. 

He wrote busily for a minute, and having finished, threw 
the sheet of foolscap over the table to Baretti, 


HEABTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 285 

Oblige me by turning that into Italian, Mr. Baretti. 
I have one or two things to look at in the meantime. 

Baretti read through the document. 

I the undersigned, hereby make confession that 

on the 29th September last I stabbed Mark Carroll, of 
Trench House, Overhill, in the County of Worcester. I 
declare that I was a witness of the interview between the 
said Mark Carroll and his cousin Thomas Carroll, of Num- 
ber Twenty, Montague Gardens, London, West, at Over- 
hill, on the twenty-ninth September last, as aforesaid, 
and that no knife was used in the conflict between them. 
As witness my hand.^^ 

When Baretti had translated this into Italian, the solici- 
tor took the translation and rapidly wrote below it the 
original English, leaving a wide spac'e between. • 

Let her sign,^^ he said, casting the sheet once more 
across the table, and the signora, marching in outward 
tranquillity to the table, signed, with a Arm hand, after 
reading the document, and resumed her seat. Now, 
Mr. Baretti,^^ said the lawyer, write, ^ I declare this to 
be a fair and just translation of the foregoing.^ Thank 
you. Will you ask the young woman if she is willing to 
submit herself to my care during the next two or three 
days? I shall keep her under lock and key and intrust her 
to my housekeeper. Tell her that if you please. 

I understand/^ said the signora in English. I shall 
not change my mind."’"' 

Very well, my dear,^^ said Cohen, who was a man of 
phlegm. You will keep your counsel, Mr. Baretti. We 
seem to have to deal with a very ready and unscrupulous 
scoundrel, but I think we shall hoist him this time. You 
may leave the lady in my care.'’^ 

I may let my friend know that he is safe?^^ asked 
Baretti. 

Oh, yes,^^ returned the solicitor. Ease his mind, 
poor fellow. But donT let him blab, even to a warder. 
It^s a great case. I shall come down to Worcester myself 
personally. I am busy, but I canT afford to miss a thing 
like this. One moment before you go, Mr. Baretti. There 
is a public-house at the corner. This document is not yet 
witnessed, and the landlord has obliged me once or twice 
before. Will you kindly ask him to step this way? Thank 


S86 hearts: queeh^ kkave, and deuce. 

Baretti was in the street in a moment thanking God 
with an uplifted heart for his friend^s deliverance. The 
signora was out of his thoughts for the time^ and it was 
enough for him to think just then that Tom Carroll was 
already virtually a free man, and that the just punishment 
of Marks’s villainy was creeping nearer and nearer. The 
landlord of the corner public-house did not seem in the 
least degree to be surprised at the request Baretti had to 
prolfer, but got into his coat at once and crossed to the 
office. 

Put your hand to this, Mr. Slape,'’^ said the criminal 
solicitor. The landlord signed. Thank you. Good- 
evening. And the man was gone. Odd fellow that, 
Mr. Baretti,^^ said the lawyer, with a laugh. There^s 
scarcely a document in the world that man will sign with- 
out consultiug me, unless iPs a receipt for money paid to 
him, but I believe — in fact I know — that he would sign 
this confession in his own name if I asked him to do it. 
Kerens my name as witness number two, and now the 
things s complete. Good night, Mr. Baretti. Eely on me 
to produce the lady at the proper time and place. 


CHAPTEE XXVIII. 

Mr. Carroll, however disposed to play the Spartan 
father, was not equal to an attendance at the County As- 
sizes, though, if he had been called as a member of the 
Grand Jury, he had strung himself up to go and do his 
duty. It is not worth while to examine too closely into 
human motives. The precise compound of foolish pride 
and stubborn courage which supported him at this crisis 
have enabled passably great men to do really great things, 
and will again. Mr. Carroll set his whole soul on the ac- 
complishment of one impossibility. He tried his hardest, 
whilst his only son awaited his trial for attempted murder, 
to behave as if nothing extraordinary were happening. He 
failed, of course, and people sympathized with him in pro- 
portion with his effort and his failure. 

One thing, at least, he contrived to do. He attended to 
business precisely as of old — missed no engagement, mud- 
dled no bargain. 

On the very morning of the trial he addressed his nephew: 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 


287 


Nephew Mark. You will have occasion to be in town 
to-day. Make a deposit for me, if you please, at the County 
Bank. If you cast your eye over the papers here, you will 
understand everything. 

Mark bowed sympathetically, and took the papers indi- 
cated. Mr. Carroll retired to his own room and bore his 
miseries in secret, whilst his nephew made his s mple prep- 
arations for the brief journey before him. Mark's occa- 
sional ventures abroad since his disaster had been accom- 
panied by much curious sympathy, and now almost every- 
body in the village found casual business on the road be- 
tween Trench House and Overhill railway-station, or on the 
platform itself. He rode down to the station in a closed 
carriage, and the station-master found him a private room 
on his arrival. When the train drew up to the platform 
the local policeman and the porter (temporarily sent down 
to supply the place of the official who had to give evidence 
of the discovery of the wounded man) had much ado to 
clear a line for Mark to the door of the first-class compart- 
ment reserved for him. Hats went off on all sides amid a 
subdued respectful murmur. Glad to see you about 
again, sir," Glad to see him about again," Doan't he 
look pale, poor feller," and the like. Poor Master 
Thomas," said one, whom Mark overheard. ‘^He have 
brought his pigs to a pretty market, haven't he?" 

This was a foretaste of what was going to happen all his 
life long in the future. Mark was resolved on being a 
popular landlord when he came to his own, and he was 
starting with the sympathy and approbation of everybody 
in the district. Things had happened very fortunately 
for him, and he was willing to admit to himself that noth- 
ing could have chanced more luckily than that Caterina 
should turn up on the night of Tom's revenge, and thus 
give the doubly assailed one his only chance of repaying the 
assailed. Mark had a faculty which is sometimes errone- 
ously supposed to belong to sympathetic people: he could 
project himself pretty fairly into another man's mind, and 
could partly tell what was going on there under given con- 
ditions. He would, in some degree, comprehend the rage 
and wonder in Tom's heart at this accusation of liis, and 
he could look at the whole matter from all the points he 
knew of without prejudice. Conscience was silent. Con- 
science is the monitor of failure. It is the defeated rascal 


288 HEAETS: QUEEK^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

whose heart is gnawn by the keen truth of her reproach, 
not the prosperous. Nor did he hate Tom overmuch after 
all, in spite of the wrong he had done and the wrong he 
meant to do him. Tom was in his way, and must be put 
out of it. Mark was pleased and soothed by the sense of 
his own mastery of the situation, and the state of his mind 
might fairly be described as judicial, with this understand- 
ing — that whatever was good for Mark Carroll was just. 

As he rode along he examined the papers his uncle had 
intrusted to his care. It was not disagreeable for the heir 
expectant to discover that he held between two and three 
thousand pounds in his fingers. Lately he was beginning 
to know pretty well what his uncle was worth, and the 
knowledge was satisfactory. The substantial lump he had 
now in his possession felt absolutely like his own. He 
smiled to think that at one time not very distant he might 
have been tempted to run away with so large a sum. There 
was no temptation now. There was nothing to run away 
from, nothing to run away to. He had everything he hoped 
for — money, luxury, social state, and the power to crush 
his sole rival. 

One of the Trench House servants rode in the same 
train, and on his arrival at the county town stepped for- 
ward and secured a conveyance for him. Mark drove at 
once to the Assize-court, where a seat was found for him. 
It is not often that the county has the luck to listen to such 
a case as the great Carroll scandal, and, as a matter of 
course, the house was filled. Mark was still a trifle pale, 
and was generally considered to look interesting.^^ The 
county ladies jvere present in shoals, and their pretty toilets 
lit up the dingy old building until it looked like a flower 
show. They leveled their opera-glasses at the prosecutor 
in this most attractiva^ case, and most of them admired 
him. It may be confessed that Markus demeanor was al- 
most perfect, the dominant feature thereof being a manly 
seriousness as of one who knew the terrible character of 
the day, but was calmly possessed of himself and tranquilly 
to do his duty. 

The case before the jury when Mark entered was one of 
arson, an unusual crime in that peaceful district, and one 
which in other circumstances would have been watched 
with great interest. Now nobody listened to it, and the 
very gentlemen of the jury had but one eye apiece for the 


HEAKTS: QUEEiiT, KNAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


280 


witnesses and reserved the other for Mark Carroll. TJie 
case against the incendiary was as clear as day, and an hour 
or two after the opening of the court a verdict of guilty 
was returned. The man was sentenced and led away 
amidst a stir and buzz, which referred, not to him, but to 
the great case of the Assize, now approaching. 

Wigged heads went together in the well of the court, and 
papers were rustled to and fro on the table. The judge 
laid by his notes of the arson case, and tried a new quill on 
his thumb-nail. There was everywhere a little audible flut- 
ter, and with all necks craned and all eyes strained to look 
at him the prisoner walked into the dock. He bowed to 
the judge, and then with both hands on the rail he scanned 
the court. At first he was so absorbed in looking for Baretti 
that he had no time to notice how everybody was staring at 
him, but when he had once found his friend and exchanged 
glances with him, the knowledge that he was there as a 
sort of raree show came home to him, and he had to bear 
it as best he could. There was comfort in Baretti'’ s look 
which was undisguisedly triumphant. 

The Clerk of Arraigns challenged the prisoner in the old 
legal jargon, the prisoner pleaded not guilty.'’'’ Counsel 
in a score or two dry sentences expounded the charge, and 
the play began. 

Henry Leggatt, in answer to the gentle leading of the 
counsel for the Crown, deposed that he was station-master 
at Overhill. That he was well acquainted with the pris- 
oner. That on the night of the 29th of September last, he 
saw the prisoner at the railway station at Overhill, his 
clothes being at that time strangely disordered, and his 
hands and the wristbands of his shirt covered with blood. 
That the prisoner directed him to Marston'^s Spinney to look 
for Mr. Mark Carroll, who might be in need of assistance, 
stating that he (prisoner) had half killed him. That wit- 
ness, in company with Philip Piggott, railway porter, 
obeyed the instructions of the prisoner, and on arriving at 
Mar stones Spinney, found many evidences of a severe 
struggle, and at last, being guided by his groanings, dis- 
covered Mr. Mark Carroll with the ivory handle of a 
dagger sticking out of him. (Dagger produced and identi- 
fied.) That Dr. Marks being summoned came at once, 
accompanied by Dr. Morton, and the injured man was con- 
veyed to Trench House. 

10 


HEAKTS: QUEEIST, K:N^AVE^ AND DEUCE. 


2IK) 


Cross-examined: Eemembered distinctly that a foreign- 
looking woman arrived by train at Overhill on the morning 
of the day in question. Eemembered to have seen her and 
Mr. Mark Carroll in conversation. Spoke to Mr. Mark 
about it. Was informed by Mr Mark that this lady was in 
Overhill to look after Mr. Thomas — the prisoner. Ee- 
membered Mr. Thomas arriving by a later train. Eemem- 
bered also that having known Mr. Thomas foi* many years^ 
and having always had a liking for him, he warned him of 
the lady^s presence in the village. Would know the lady 
again among a thousand. Portrait produced was undoubt- 
edly a good likeness. 

This line of cross-examination seemed to Mark to be- 
token unpleasant things; but he was prepared to have 
aspersions cast upon him, and, on reflection, he could see 
that a defense of that sort was no defense at all, and would 
recoil on the heads of those who used it. To try to blacken 
a man^s character after sticking a dagger into him! He 
could already in fancy see and hear the style in which a 
British judge and a British jury would resent that infamy, 

Philip Piggott, being examined, in part confirmed the 
evidence of the first witness. Counsel for the prisoner de- 
clined to cross-examine. 

l)rs. Marks and Morton gave evidence as to the call to 
attend the wounded man and the nature of his injuries. 
Under cross-examination confessed themselves certain, or 
thereabouts, that, with the one marked exception, all the 
injuries were inflicted with a walking-stick, the fragments 
of which were found within a yard or two of the evident 
scene of conflict. 

The way having been thus made clear and straight for 
the hero of the day, Mark Carroll was called and put into 
the witness-box. The light in Baretti^s face discomfited 
him for a moment, but he settled down to his business, and 
gave his evidence with a grave distinctness and an absence 
of apparent malice which gained him high credit with the 
court. 

This,^^ said the counsel for the Crown, “ is a painful 
case, and I shall be compelled to ask you some painful 
questions. 

Mark inclined his head in assent to this, and the exami- 
nation-in-chief began. It took Mark back to the quarrel 
between the prisoner and his father, and led on past Marks’s 


hearts: queeh^ khaye^ akd deuce. 291 

adoption by Mr. Carroll to the great libel case. Then it 
became more direct and particular. 

You recollect the night of the 29th of September last?^^ 
Vividly/^ said Mark. 

Kindly relate what happened. 

Mark had received from the prisoner a letter (produced) 
asking for money, and begging that it might be brought to 
an hotel in the town. Having reason to suspect the pris- 
oner's purpose he did not go. Thereupon the prisoner 
came to Overhill, and was there encountered, accidentally, 
by the historian. A conversation took place between them, 
in the course of which Mark felt it his duty to exhort the 
prisoner to an amended way of life. He promised, in view 
of such an amendment as he prayed for, to use his best 
elforts to bring about a reconciliation between the prisoner 
and his father, though he admitted he did not think the 
task a hopeful one. The prisoner charged him excitedly 
with having poisoned his father^ s mind against him, and, 
attempted to strike him across the face with the walking- 
stick he carried. The historian declared that he had de- 
fended himself as well as he could, but, being at length 
partially stunned by a heavy blow on the head and thereby 
felled to the ground, was savagely beaten as he lay. Fi- 
nally, he declared that when the prisoner's walking-stick 
was broken by the violence of his blows, and he, the wit- 
ness, was struggling to his feet, the prisoner drew a dagger 
from his breast-pocket. A struggle ensued, in which wit- 
ness was powerless to avert the prisoner’s intent. In the 
course of that struggle he asked, Do you mean to kill me, 
Tom?” and the prisoner answered, By — , I do!” Wit- 
ness was then stabbed, and lost consciousness. 

The thing was as plain as a pikestaff, and when the 
counsel for the Crown resumed his seat the jury in their 
own minds had found the prisoner guilty. But now arose 
the counsel for the defense, and hitching his gown and 
playing with the papers on the table, looked suavely for a 
minute at the witness and began : 

When did it first enter your mind,, Mr. Carroll, to 
bring this charge against your cousin?” 

Kot,” said Mark, until the medical men pronounced 
me out of danger.” 

What was the reason of that delay?” 

“ I thought, sir,” Mark an-swered, with a certain reluc- 


292 hearts: qiteek, khave^ and deuce. 

tant magnanimity^, that my uncle — the prisoner's father 
—had endured enough already.'’^ 

You wished that the prisoner should escape punish- 
ment?^^ 

That was partly my reason for silence/^ 

That was partly your reason. Let us know it all, if 
you please.'’^ 

If I had died, sir,^^ said Mark, giavely and gently, 
with downcast eyes, the prisoner's position would have 
been different. I was silent, not from consideration for 
liim so much as for his father. 

Do you know, Mr. Carroll, that you stand here in a 
singidarly favorable light in consequence of that state- 
ment?^^ 

I know nothing of that,^^ said Mark, simply. ‘‘ I 
acted for the best.^^ 

I am sure you did,^^ returned the counsel, warmly. 

The listeners wondered for the most part, but the judge 
and one or two of counseFs intimates, who knew his ways, 
began to look for something to arise from all this sympa- 
thetic suavity. 

Can you guess, Mr. Carroll,^^ he began, after a little 
pause, how much you owe the prisoner in money ?^^ 
Mark looked inquiry. Before your uncle dismissed the 
prisoner from his confidence and adopted you, how much 
money had you borrowed from him?^^ 

From the prisoner ?^^ said Mark. Several hundred 
pounds, I believe. 

“ Until he himself became impoverished, and whilst you 
were poor, he was uniformly generous to you, I believe."^ 

“ He was,^^ said Mark, uniformly generous.'’^ 

Did you offer to repay him when he applied to you?’’ 

I was perfectly ready to repay him,^'’ returned Mai’k. 

That question did not arise. 

'^Oh!"^ said counsel. What was the purport of his 
visit to you?^^ 

The result proved the purport, answered Mark. 

“ Then your cousin came down to Overhill prepared to 
make a murderous assault upon you?^^ 

I am forced to believe so.'''’ 

What was his motive for that? ^ 

He appeared to conceive that I had purposely supplant- 
ed him in his father^s affections.'"’ 


hearts: queeh, khaye, akd deuce. 293 

Was there — is there any truth in that belief 

None whatever/^ 

You have not made it a systematic practice to blacken 
your cousin^ s character for your own gain?^^ 

I have not. On the contrary, I have made excuses 
for him. 

When he needed none/^ said the counsel. A most 
efficient mode of libel. 

This was the first thrust he gave, and Mark stood a little 
discomfited at its suddenness and keenness. Not that the 
discomfiture showed even for a moment. 

I am assuming motives, Mr. Oarroll,^^ the counsel 
continued, and that is a thing I have no right to do. But 
now I must ask you one or two questions to which I must 
invite your particular attention. You know the Signora 
Malfi?^^ 

I have met her.^^ 

Is this a recognizable portrait of that lady? Pray look 
at it carefully. 

It is, to the best of my remembrance, a portrait of the 
lady."" 

Was the Signora Malfi in the village of Overhill on the 
29th of September last?"" 

There was nothing but destruction to be got by denying. 
this — little enough to be lost if he confessed it. Besides, 
Leggatt, the station-master, had sworn to his meeting her. 

I met here there."" 

Kindly tell us what her business was. "" 

So far as she let me know it, she was there in search of 
a gentleman who, according to her statement, had wronged 
her. "" 

Who was that gentleman?"" 

I am not responsible for these questions,"" said Mark. 

I will answer if you press me."" 

Who was that gentleman?"" 

The prisoner."" 

Were you anxious to spare hirh that revelation?"" 

I was anxious to avoid the publication of a new scan- 
dal."" 

Was that why you volunteered the statement to Leg- 
gatt, the station-master?"" 

I offered that statement in self-defense?"" 

Signora Malfi was never your mistress, Mr. Carroll?"" 


294 HEARTS: QUEEK, ’■Kl^AVE;, AND DEUCE. 

Never. 

Do you know why she parted from her husband 
I did not even know that she was married. Mark had 
no sooner said this than he saw the folly of it^ and hastened 
to qualify it: I know that she lived with an operatic tenor 
who bore the name of Malfi; but I am informed that they 
were never married. 

Married or not married, do you know why they 
parted 

I do not. 

Brother Crawford/^ said the judge, I presume that 
all this is germane to the case?^^ 

Absolutely, my lord. Attend, Mr. Carroll. Did Sig- 
nor Malfi ever visit your chambers in the Temple to search 
for this lady?^^ 

He did,^^ answered Mark. I threw my rooms open 
to him. He examined them all, and went away again. ^ 
The lady was not there?^^ 

The lady was not there. 

“ Upon your oath?^^ 

Upon my oatli.*^^ 

‘‘You did not conceal her in the adjoining set of cham- 
bers? Come, Mr. Carroll, courage is a good thing in its 
way. I am not questioning in the dark.^^ 

“ I am here to answer any questions you may put to 
me,^^ Mark answered. Cool as he was, his head began to 
whirl, and the palms of his hands grew moist. Had they 
caught the signora and forced her to confess? He dismissed 
that awful fancy as pure nonsense; but why did the man 
hang round about her name in this way? 

“ Did you conceal her in an adjoining set of chambers 
during Signor Maine’s visit?^^ 

“ I did not.^^ 

“ Did you afterward contemptuously dismiss her, saying 
that she had been an agreeable toy to you, but that you di(l 
not care to have an Italian dagger in your ribs for her 
sake?^^ 

“ Nothing of the sort took place. 

“ Did you ever profess any attachment for her?^^ 

“ Never. 

“ Now, was it yourself and not your cousin whom slie 
came to see at Overhill?^^ 

“ She told me she was seeking for my cousin. 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 295 

After your cousin had broken his walking-cane over 
you, did you meet the lady by appointment previously 
made?^^ 

Did she tell you that she had been witness to the well- 
merited thrashing you had received?’^ 

All this,^^ said Mark, desperately, is pure fabrica- 
tion/^ 

Did she upbraid you with your own broken promises 
to her?^^ 

No such interview took place. 

Did she finally stab you in answer to an opprobrious 
epithet from your lips?^^ 

The prisoner stabbed me.^^ 

Were you afraid to reveal the real criminal because the 
reason for her crime would have blotted your own reputa- 
tion?^^ 

There is no truth in any of these guesses. The awful 
fancy dismissed five minutes ago as pure nonsense was here 
again, but to go back was impossible. Perhaps Tom had 
seen the thing done. This refiection was a great relief, for 
the prisoner's mouth was closed by law. That was the evi- 
dent truth of the case. Tom had seen it all, and had sup- 
plied his counsel with the truth, but without corroborative 
evidence his tale was worthless. From that moment Mark 
felt safe. 

Did you finally resolve to prefer the charge against 
your cousin to be revenged for the thrashing he had given 
you?^^ 

I preferred the charge with reluctance — great reluc- 
tance. I was moved to it by no sentiment of revenge.'’'' 

You were perfectly in the possession of your faculties 
when the blow was struck?"^ 

Perfectly. 

I will give you a chance to shelter yourself yet. There 
was no possibility of any hallucination in your mind at that 
moment?^^ 

None.^" 

You swear solemnly that your cousin, Thomas Oar- 
roll, struck the blow with that dagger which was afterward 
found in your body?^^ 

I swear tbat/^ 


2d(j HEAKTS: QUEElsr^ KISTAYE^ AXD DEUCE, 

You swear that no interview took place between Cate- 
rina Malfi and yourself that evening?^^ 

I swear that/"" 

The counsel resumed his seat^ the barrister who acted 
for the Crown waved a hand of dismissal to the prosecutor^ 
and arose murmuring — 

Case for prosecution is completed^ my lord. 

Before Mark had left the box Crawford was on liis feet 
again. His eye flashed and his voice rang like a trumpet: 
Call Caterina Malfi. 

One Cohen, eagle-beaked and eagle-eyed, rose from his 
seat in the court at this cry, and m^e a gesture. All the 
court rose with him, and there was heard a murmur of 
amazement. Baretti cast one glance of triumphant hate 
at Mark, and a second later waved his hand with a swift 
and vivid gesture at the prisoner. Maik clutched the rail 
of the witness-box, turned white, and a sickly tremor shook 
him with an anguish so terrible that even in that moment 
his villainies were punished. • 

The crowd to the left rear of the dock ^larted slowly, and 
a face took every eye and held it. Pale lips, tight-clinched, 
pale swarthy cheeks, without one touch of red, great black 
eyes blazing with inward fire, nostrils dilating and' contract- 
ing. Revenge in person. 

Mark fell rather than walked out of the witness-box. In 
full possession of his physical strength he could have borne 
this better, but he was only a week or two away from his 
sick bed, and the tremendous shock unmanned him. Cate- 
rina saw him, and before Mark disappeared from the box 
their eyes met. He knew long since that he had no hope 
of mercy in her if she could take him once upon the hip, 
but he had always laughed at her. He knew now that he 
had nothing to hope from any fear in her. She would 
have walked to certain death to ruin him, and he could 
read that in her look. 

The wave of faces in the court subsided and settled down 
to its old level. The signora stood in the box, the sworn 
interpreter of the court was summoned, the oath was ad- 
ministered, and the counsel for the defense confronted the 
witness. 

What is your name?^^ 

Caterina Torriani.^^ 

Not Malfi.^^^^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEiiT, KNAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 297 
No.^^ 

You remember the night of the 29th of Septem'ber 

lastr^ 

Yes.^^ 

Where were you on that night?^^ 

At a place called Overhill/ ^ 

For what purpose were you there 
I was there to be revenged upon Mark Carroll. 

For what?^^ 

We met/'’ said the signora^ nearly two years ago/^ 
And from that beginning she told her story. Sentence by 
sentence the sworn interpreter of the court turned it into 
dull English which made it none the less terrible in the 
telling. The silence of the place was marvelous until she 
related how Mark once upon a time had brought his cousin 
with him as a blind for Malfi, and then a murmur ran 
round the court and died. She went on calmly — with both 
hands clinched tightly upon her bosom — ^in a voice which 
never faltered and with a face which never changed, until 
she reached the scene at Overhill. Then^once or twice she 
paused, and in spite of her restraining hands her bosom 
rose and fell like a wave. Her speech was made the slower 
by the fact that the judge took a full note of it, the inter- 
preter waiting with one hand raised toward her, and his 
eye upon the judge, until each sentence was written. 
When the pen stopped the interpreter looked toward her 
and she let fall another sentence. 

I had made up my mind to kill him. Pause and dead 
silence, broken only by the scratching of the judge^s quill. 

But I had loved him, and I had to wait until he provoked 
me. I begged him to remember his old promises. He 
jeered at me. At last he called me — 

What did he call you?^^ 

One swift wave of crimson passed over her face and left 
her pale again. She spoke the word. 

Insulting epithet, my lord/^ said the interpreter. 

Equivalent to street-walker.^^ 

When happened then?^'’ 

I had my dagger ready and I stabbed him.^^ 

What is your object in coming here?'’^ 

To ruin him.^^ 

Do you know the consequence of this act to yourself 
Yes. 


298 


hearts: quebk^ kxave^ ahd deuce. 


Do you know that you are liable to imprisonment for 

life.P^ 

Yes."^ 

And you surrender yourself to justice 
Yes.^^ 

That is the case for the defense^ my lord.'^^ 

“My lord/^ cried the foreman of the jury, “ I beg to 
call your attention to the fact that the prosecutor has left 
the court/^ 

“ I have to ask for an authority for Mark OarrolFs 
arrest on a charge of willful and corrupt perjury/'’ said 
Crawford, rising again. 

“ Certainly/^ said the judge, as if the thing were a mat- 
ter of every day. 

“ My lord,'’^ said the foreman, rising a second time, “ we 
are ready with our verdict.'’^ 

“ How say you, gentlemen of tlie jury?^^ began the 
Clerk of Arraigns, and on the heels of his mumbled 
“ guilty or not guilty the foreman ra]3ped out, 

“ Not guilty 

The court was , filled with the noise of unrestrained ap- 
plause, as Baretti struggled to the dock and clasped Tom^s 
hands across the rail. A minute later the door of the dock 
was unbarred, and the fiery Italian's arms were about his 
friend '’s neck, and the little man was crying passionately. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Wheh Mark slipped out of court it was nobody^s busi- 
ness to stop him. A quarter of an hour later he would 
have been hustled and roughly treated, but so far nothing 
had occurred to awaken popular anger. Amazement there 
was in plenty, and expectation in plenty, but as yet no 
rage. So he walked out quietly, unmolested. 

As he stood upon the outer steps of the building he felt 
suddenly fugitive and outcast. There was not a hope he 
had had in the world, but that morning^s work hiul 
wrecked it. 

“ I must bolt,^^ he said to himself, “ and that right 
early. His shoulder was sensitive to a phantom han<l 
which might at any moment become real. He walked in 
apparent quiet down the steps, and for a hundred yards or 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 299 

SO along the street. Turning then into a by-way, he en- 
countered the vehicle which had carried him from the rail- 
way station to the court. 

youhu not engaged/^ he said to the driver, I 
should like a little drive into the country. I want a breath 
of fresh air after that crowded court. 

Yes, sir,^^ said the man, which way?^^ 

Out here will do,^^ said Mai’k, and entered the coach. 
The man turned the horse^s head and drove off at a stolid 
jog-trot. I am not learned in the laws of this cursed 
country, said the fare to himself, though I was bred to 
the Bar, but I suppose they^ll want me at once. He lit 
a cigar and learned back out of observation's way, trying 
to think. He cursed Tom, the signora, his uncle^s money, 
himself, and whatever else he thought of. He saw already 
how powerless he was to defy the terror he himself had 
raised. To have stayed behind and contemptuously to 
have denied the signora "^s story, would not that have been 
wiser than to have run away at once? He could drive back 
still. No. He was too late. He should have thought of 
that at first. To have left the court on her appearance 
was damnatory. A charge of perjury against himself — a 
counter charge of perjury against Caterina — a charge of 
conspiracy against her and Tom and Baretti — Baretti was 
in the swim, as his face of triumph made manifest. All 
this would have given time to run away at ease. His 
thoughts traveled in irregular circles like a straw in an 
eddy. But with every whirl they gave, he remembered 
one thing— he was ruined. 

Markus opinion used to be that he had never been a fool 
except in a way in which it is permitted even to wise men 
to infringe on the domain of folly, but it now began to 
occur to him that he had been a fool at large; an uncom- 
fortable reflection. You can not reconstruct a lifers phi- 
losophy in a minute, but Markus tablets of commandment 
were smashed to pieces, and he was already prowling amid 
the sharda-to hunt up material for a new version. Logic- 
ally, his old post of cynic and self-lover was as tenable as 
ever: but it was Fate who had dislodged him, and she 
would not be reasoned with. What if honesty were the 
best policy after all? If there were something in human 
affairs, or outside them, which made it impossible for man 
successfully to defy certain recognized rules? When Mark 


300 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


had been lying between life and death doubts of a similar 
nature had occurred to him. Now that he was ruined, and 
his schemes were broken and his enemies triumphant, the 
doubts came back again. The gambler has no susjucion 
of his infallible system whilst he wins, but when the tide of 
fortune turns against it, he begins to suspect its virtues. 
And the system should be above suspicion when you stake 
your immortal soul and mortal welfare. 

He tried to keep his head clear of these fancies, and to 
get an unobstructed view of the situation as it concerned 
himself. To kill Tom or Caterina, or both of them, would 
have been pleasurable, he thought, but he had still self- 
possession enough to smile at Qiat as a longing after the 
unattainable. Besides, Mark was not a good hater. His 
blood ran cold. He despised better than he hated; and 
now, at least, the one thing he had to do was to steer clear 
of immediate dangers. Suddenly he remembered the 
papers intrusted to him that morning by his uncle, and he 
began to examine them. They m^e a somewhat bulky 
little parcel for an inner pocket, even when folded in the 
most convenient way, and a hasty observation showed him 
that they were mainly worthless to him, thougli of value to 
his uncle. There were two hundred and fifty pounds hi 
notes, and there was a check made payable to Thomas 
Carroll by one Septimus Hardwicke for twelve hundred 
and thirteen pounds, and countersigned by the said 
Thomas Carroll. This check, as Mark knew, was given in 
payment for a strip of building land. If he dare go back 
to the town and present himself at the bank, he knew very 
well that he could have it cashed at once. Fourteen hun- 
dred and sixty- three pounds was enough to start the world 
with. If he had so much saved out of the fire he might 
begin to think himself fortunate, after all. He put his 
head through the window of the four-wheeler, and addressed 
the driver: 

I think you may as well turnback nov/.^^ But his 
heart failed him even as he spoke. Never mind. Drive 
on a bit further. Isn^t there a country hotel out this 
way?^^ 

Fox and Hounds, sir,^^ said cabby. Two mile fur- 
ther on, sir. 

^^All right, returned Mark. Drive me there.'’" 
Cabby touched up the horse again, and away they went. 


HEAKTS; QUEEN:, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


301 


Was there ever/^ Mark asked himself, such infernal 
luck as mine? What an ass I am. Why didn^t I drive 
straight to the bank after leaving that confounded court? 
As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Perjury followed 
by fraudulent bailee. By God,. Mark, you^re a pretty fel- 
low, and a very pretty reputation you^ll leave behind you.'’' 

No pretense of not caring was likely to avail him much, 
and by and by he lay back in a sullen desperation, through 
which a fit of cursing broke now and again, as some nasty 
creature breaks now and then the surface of a sewer 
stream. His cogitations came in effect to this — that he 
was played out, exposed, and (most likely), at that mo- 
ment, hunted. His enemies would burn to get hold of 
him, and the one good turn he had it in his power to do 
himself was to let them burn in vain. It would probably 
take him all he knew to get away. 

He began to grow cool again, and his cunning awoke 
with his fears. He thought of everything that safety could 
possibly hang upon. The driver pulled up at the Fox and 
Hounds, and he found that the landlord knew him, though 
he had not been there for years and years. He called for a 
glass of brandy, gave the driver his choice of drinks, and 
said that he would stretch his legs by a little walk. 

You can get something to eat, driver,^ ^ he said, care- 
lessly tossing half a sovereign to the man. We^ll see 
about the change when I get back again. You can give 
the horse a mouthful of hay, too. Be ready to start in an 
hour.'^^ 

Mark lit a cigar, and walked along the country road. If 
ever he had known this district he had forgotten it, and 
knew nothing more than that it took him away from the 
scene of his disaster. 

Fd better have stuck to her,^-^ bethought, as the sign- 
ora came into his mind. She must have been damnably 
fond of me to turn round like that. 

He walked on for a long time until he came to a country 
railway-station near a level crossing. The time-table 
pasted against a board at the station wall was consulted, 
and he learned by reference to his watch that a train start- 
ed in half an hour. He chose some inconsiderable place to 
ask a ticket for, and in due time was carried thither. Ar- 
rived, he went with simulated bustle to the hotel, gave a 
fictitious name and address at the bar, and requested that 


302 HEAKTS: QUEEK:, KI^AYE^, AKD DEUCE. 

certain packages should be preserved for him when they 
arrived. Then over a glass of brandy and water in the 
parlor he looked at a Gazeteer and found out where he 
was. This done, he called for a fly to a neighboring vil- 
lage, the very name of which had. until then been strange 
to him, and reaching it after a four or five miles^ drive, 
paid the fly and dined, and studied the local Gazeteer 
anew. 

If they follow me now, they will find a check here and 
thei'e,^^ he said to himself, and I must have an hour or 
two before they get on the scent at all. ISiothing so wide 
and safe as London.-^'' 

Dinner over, he entered into affable coiiversation with 
the host. 

You can let me have a bed here to-night, landlord?^'’ 

Certainly, sir.^’’ 

I havenH any luggage with me,'’^ said Mark, so ITl 
pay you beforehand. How much?^^ 

Eighteen pence, sir.^^ 

Great changes here since I used to know the place,^^ 
said Mark. The Gazeteer had primed him. 

Ay, sir?^^ said the landlord. “ As how?'’'' 

Oh, I doiiT mean the village, but the neighborhood. 
Finding coal at Lecky, for instance, and running the rail- 
way through Wei ton. 

Yes, sir,^" said the landlord. Great changes. 

Let me see,^^ said Mark, Welton^s out that way, 
isn^t it?"^ 

Lord bless you, no sir,^" answered the landlord, point- 
ing out the way directly opposite, thafs the WYlton 
Road. Past the church out there, sir, and then it lies due 
west. At this time o^ year the sun sets over Welton from 
here. " 

Odd how a man forgets places, said Mark, and, fresh 
from the study of the Gazeteer,"" he asked a question or 
two and made a statement or two, to all of which the land- 
lord answered willingly enough. 

The fugitive had paid for his dinner as well as his bed, 
and when the evening dusk came on, he bought a cigar at 
the bar, and again announced his intention of stretching 
his legs. They had been pretty well stretched already, and 
he was beginning to feel tired. 

If by any miracle they should follow me so far as this 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AND DEUCE 


303 


to-niglit/^ he thought, as he strolled along the village 
street, they will rely upon my coming back to bed there. 
It^s likely enough that I am piling up more precautions 
than I need, but there^s no knowing, and I am not going 
to throw a chance away/^ 

He walked on doggedly to Wei ton, and there found him- 
self at a branch station of the Great Western Eailway. He 
booked for Oxford and slept there. In the morning he 
bought a second-hand portmanteau — a new one looked sus- 
picious to his eyes^ — and having provided himself with a 
few necessaries, he studied the hotel Bradshaw carefully, 
and selected a roundabout route for London. At the rail- 
way-station he saw, The Carroll Stabbing Case. Extra- 
ordinary Eevelations. Scene in Court,^^ on one newsjDaper 
bill; and on another, Melodrama in High Life. Carroll 
Stabbing Case. Startling Evidence. He crowded the 
great Eastern Question out of the bills, and he knew that 
for one day at least he was the best advertised man in 
Europe. 

He bought the journals and took his place in a first- 
class carriage. He read the account of yesterday^’s doings 
in three or four different forms, and he listened behind the 
sheet whilst his fellow-travelers talked of him. Each of 
the papers had a leading article upon him, and he was as 
famous as Gladstone or Bismarck. Phenomenal venge- 
ance, on the part of Caterina, phenomenal wicked- 
ness,^ ^ on the part of Mark Carroll, extraordinary escape^^ 
of Tom Carroll from the snares spread for him by the phe- 
nomenal cousin. The writers of the daily press had not 
often met with such a theme, wide as is the field they hunt 
in, and rich as it is in surprising incident. Crimes in 
plenty they confessed they knew — criminals were, unhap- 
pily, as plentiful as blackberries; but crimes and criminals 
of this amazing stamp were rare. Thus Mark had such 
a chance as rarely falls to the lot of any man of seeing him- 
self as other people saw him. All the writers were duly 
cautious, too, and qualified themselves with suppositions. 

If the evidence gf this woman can be accepted If 
we may argue from the sudden disappearance of the prose- 
cutor — and so on. Mark saw how little these reserva- 
tions were needed, but he was behind the scenes. In the 
railway-carriage everybody denounced him in terms so un- 
measured that a downright terror began to assail him. If 


:]04 HEAKTS: QUEEK, K^^AYE, ANV DEFOE. 

he were seen «"ind recognized by any chance acquaintance, a 
mob might tear him into pieces. He began to see that 
murder would have made him less odious in the general 
mind. 

By the route he had chosen it took him nearly the whole 
day to reach London, and he passed every hour in fear, and 
in a grim defiance of his own tremors. He had reached 
London by the Surrey side, and he dined at an ill-provided 
restaurant in company with an evening paper. He learned 
from its columns all that had been done in the search after 
himself, and he read once more the translation of Caterina^s 
evidence. He discovered that the fiyman had not returned 
until late at night, and that then, learning the truth, he 
had volunteered a statement to the police, who had traced 
tlie fugitive as far as Welton, from which place he was be- 
lieved to have taken a ticket to Oxford. He put down the 
paper and forced himself to cut a few morsels, of food, but 
the news-sheet drew his eyes by a sort of fascination, and 
he read on. The amount of money and money^s value 
with which he had been intrusted on the morning of the 
trial was set down, and the very number of the notes he 
carried. He was alone in the restaurant, and, with a fur- 
tive look round the place, he drew his pocket-book from 
his breast — the heavier papers were stowed away in the 
portmanteau at his feet — and by a glance at the notes veri- 
fied the reporter's statement. 

At that moment the door opened, and whilst he some- 
what flurriedly put back the flimsy papers, there entered 
from the street a stout and personable man with a white 
tie, a hat modeled on the lines of the head-dress worn b}^ 
bishops, and a smile in which the most careless passer-by 
might read humility and benevolence. The new-comer 
gave a start on seeing Mark, and Mark looked at him with 
a face that had suddenly grown ghastly. Humility and 
benevolence vanished from the stout man^s face, and he 
marched forward after a second^s hesitation, and held out 
his hand. 

This is indeed an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Warner. 

Mark took the proffered hand, but his own lay in it cold 
as death. 

I do not think,^^ said the stout man, that anything 
in the world could have afforded me so much pleasure as 
this unexpected interview. I use this little house regu- 


hearts: queeK^ kkaye, ahd deuce. 305 

larly, Mr. Warner, but I never expected that I should sec 
you within these humble precincts. I should suppose it to 
be worth two or three thousand pounds to me to meet you 
here at this interesting juncture.’’^ 

Not quite as much as that, Bethesda/^ said Mark, re- 
covering a little. Eather than pay so much as that for so 
cheap a pleasure, I would blow your brains out to begin 
with and follow with my own. 

Mr. Bethesda applied his hand to a gong which lay upon 
the table, and, a dirty waiter answering this summons, the 
good man called for a cup of chocolate. When the waiter 
had supplied this he lingered, and Bethesda stirred the con- 
tents of the cup with his spoon and took an occasional sip 
at it and an occasional look at Mark, who by this time had 
got his bank-notes back into his pocket and was looking 
blindly at the newspaper. 

Waiter,'’^ said Mr. Bethesda, calmly and blandly, get 
me a hansom-cab in five minutes^ time, if you please. Just 
look outside and stop the first that passes. 

Might look for a week,'’^ said the waiter, “ and not see 
a hansom go by here, si r.^^ 

A four-wheeler will do,^^ replied Bethesda. The waiter 
sauntered to the door. I shall be glad to see you beneath 
my humble roof, Mr. Warner, said the good man, when 
he and Mark were thus left alone again. 

“ I am obliged to you,^^ said Mark, sardonically. 

After this Mr. Bethesda held his peace until the waiter 
announced the discovery and arrest of a four-wheeled cab, 
when he disbursed his twopence, gave the man a halfpenny, 
and stood by whilst Mark paid for his own miserable and 
scarcely tasted meal. Then the good man begged leave to 
help Mark with his portmanteau, and walked behind him 
stealthily like a fat cat with a rat in custody. Mark en- 
tered the vehicle first, Mr. Bethesda having instructed the 
driver, followed, and the two facing each other were driven 
through the streets together. Mark leaning back scanned 
his companion's countenance furtively, and once or twice 
encountered his smiling look. 

The journey was not a long one, but it gave Mark time 
to turn himself round in. 

‘‘ Is this your house, Bethesda? he asked, when the cab 
stopped. Are you married or single? I forget. 

I am a single man,^^ said Betliesda, who at that mo- 


306 hearts: queek^ kkave^ akd deuce. 

nient was leaning forward to open the cab-door, so that his 
face was brought near to Markus. I am a single man at 
present, Mr. Warner, but I do not live alone. He smiled 
as he said this, not quite so amiably as usual, and Markus 
eyes glittered wickedly. When they alighted, Mr. Bethes- 
da, keeping an eye on his companion, proceeded to unlock 
the door, and fumbled so much with the key that Mark 
lost patience, and taking it irritably from his fhigers, 
turned it in the lock and flung the door open. The passage 
on which they entered was dusk, and Mr. Bethesda stood 
in the door-way whilst he called for a light. In point of 
fact Mr. Bethesda^ s prisoner was growing more resolute 
and assured in manner, and Mr. Bethesda himself was be- 
coming a little timorous. Mark observed the change in 
his cap tor ^s manner, and was quick to take advantage of it. 

DonT stand there like an ass,^^ he said, quietly. 

Come in-doors. It isnT worth my while to commit mur- 
der yet.^^ 

Notwithstanding this assurance, Mr.Hethesda forbore to 
close the door, but waited until a maid-servant appeared 
from the lower part of the house with a candle. Then he 
not merely closed the door, but bolted it at top and bot- 
tom. He also locked it with a big inside key, which he 
withdrew from the lock and handed to the servant. 

Take care of that until I ask for it,'’"^ he said. The 
girl stared from him to the key, and from the key 
to him, but said nothing. You may light the gas 
in the back-room, Eliza. Thank you. Now you may go. 
You may save yourself the trouble of looking through the 
key-hole, Eliza, he added, as the girl retired, because 
I shall be opening the door pretty constantly at unexpected 
moments. 

Now we can talk to each other, said Mark. We 
may as well have our explanation at once. 

Precisely, said Bethesda. For a full minute there 
was silence, each waiting for the other to begin. Bethesda^s 
patience gave way flrst. I am very glad to see you here, 
Mr. Warner, because you bled me pretty freely once upon 
a time, and I am not so wealthy as I was. You are in pos- 
session of a decent sum of money now, according to the 
newspapers, and I rather fancy you are in a position to re- 
pay me.^^ 

In plain English Bethesda, said Mark, you think I 


hearts: queeh, khave^ and deuce. 307 
am in your hands^ and that you can do what you like with 

Precisely/^ said Bethesda. 

It was necessary that we should come to an understand- 
ing, since chance drew us together/^ Mark began, and 
we can arrive at it more comfortably here than elsewhere. 
When we have arrived at our understanding, you will see 
under what an error you brought me here. You have read 
the great Carroll case in the newspapers, no doubt. 

I though I had told you so,^^ returned Bethesda. 

I have made a mistake, Bethesda, Mark went on, 
which any man might have made, and it proved fatal to 
my plans. It not only proved fatal to my plans, but it set 
me in a very awkward corner, and exposed me to popular 
prejudice. Now, trading on my knowledge of that popu- 
lar prejudice, you think to frighten me. If your own hands 
were clean, Bethesda, you might do it. But we are black- 
guards both, and if you threaten to expose me, I threaten 
to expose you. We are pot and kettle, Bethesda. 

Don^t be too certain of your own position, sir,^’ cried 
Bethesda. To tell you the truth, sir, I do not believe 
that any man has been so unpopular as you are for many 
years. The tide of public feeling has set in against you 
very strongly — very strongly, sir. Do you know Mr. Ba- 
retti? Mr. Baretti is a gentleman whom I met at the Gar- 
rick during the period of my management for Mr. Carroll. 
He is a very ardent friend of your cousin^ s, and he has is- 
sued a document on his own account, sir. I have possessed 
myself of a copy, which you may read if you choose. 

So saying, Bethesda took from his breast a pocket-book, 
which he opened with great deliberation. Mark looked 
hard at him all the while, and by and by took from his 
outstretched hand a small placard announcing briefly that 
the sum of two hundred pounds would be paid by Antonio 
Baretti, of Number Twenty, Montague Gardens, West, to 
any person who would give such information as would lead 
to the arrest of Mark Carroll, late of Overhill, in the coun- 
ty of Worcester. 

I sup pose, said Bethesda, in a contemplative way, 
that there can^t be less than fifty thousand of "’em uj) 
and down London at this minute. 

Ah!^^ returned Mark, producing his cigar-case, and 
tearing the hand-bill into spills, one of which he lighted at 


308 


HEARTS: QUEEH;, KHAVE^ AKH DEUCE. 


the gas. And you think I^m fool enough to buy you off 
with all these out against me. You^re quite mistaken^ 
Bethesda. The Customs authorities would love to know 
you, and I promise you that, if you denounce me, ITl de- 
nounce you. Why, hang it all, man, I thought you had 
more sense than to try to bully me, with such a record as 
,your own behind you.'"^ 

Mr. Bethesda looked crest-fallen. 

You are too many for me, Mr. Warner,^ ^ he made 
answer in a little while. You always were. 

Now, mark me,""^ said Mark, inspecting his cigar crit- 
ically to see that it was properly alight; ‘ ‘ your safety is 
bound up in mine. If I am caught that is your misfortune, 
whether it is your fault or not; for I am no sooner collared 
than I mention the name of my friend, Mr. Bethesda. Now 
in place of bullying me, donT you see that it^s in your in- 
terest to see me away? I think, if you ^11 look at it long 
enough, youTl see it in that light. Take time. When I 
see two ways before me, Bethesda, one a bold way and the 
other a cowardly, I take the bold one, especially when I^m 
playing with a man like you. Nobody will be likely to 
look here for me. You can put me up here, until you 
have made arrangements with one of your river-side 
friends. How far is the river away from here, Bethesda? 
Not far, I fancy 

There ^s a bit of an old wharf at the bottom of the gar- 
den, sir,^^ said Bethesda, humbly.- 

That is very convenient indeed,^ ^ returned Mark. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps there is a bit of an old boat at the bit of an old 
wharf? Eh, Bethesda?^^ Mr. Bethesda returned no an- 
swer. If you have no objection, weTl go and see. Per- 
haps you know an old friend who can taka care of me and 
get me down river without the formality of taking a ticket 
for me. I am not particular as to how I go. You see, 
Bethesda, I am a man who has mixed a good deal in all 
sorts of society, high and low, and there are a good many 
people who know me. In the circumstances which at pres- 
ent surround me, I am safer out of England than in it, 
and I take it as a great kindness on your part that you 
turned up in such a friendly way at so difficult a juncture. 

You are too many for me, Mr. Warner,^ ^ said Mr. 
Bethesda. You always were.""^ 

Observe, Bethesda,^^ said Mark, the advantages of a 


HEAETS: QUEEIST;, KNAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


309 


moral life. Let this lesson sink deep into your mind, and 
persuade you to loftier courses for the future. If you had 
never let me find you out you might have earned two hun- 
dred pounds at this moment by the turn of a hand. 

I have nothing to do in that sort of way, sir,^'’said Be- 
thesda, mysteriously, for some years past, and Fm afraid 
I can^t be of any service to you.*^^ 

All right, Bethesda,^^ returned the visitor, I am 
in your hands. If I am caught, whether by your instru- 
mentality or not, I shall tell what I know. And I know 
a good deal. I can prove half a dozen cases against you, 
and you are as deep in the mud as I am in the mire. Your 
safel^ hangs on mine. ^ ^ 

‘ ‘ I will do whafc I can, sir,^^ returned Bethesda. You 
are too many for me. You always were.^^ 


OHAPTEE XXX. 

Baeetti, in the sight of all the court, kissed Tom on 
both cheeks, Italian-fashion, twice over. The crowd there 
assembled guffawed at this unaccustomed spectacle, and 
some clapped hands at it. Public attention was for the time 
being concentrated on the released prisoner. He was local, 
and everybody knew him or knew of him. That gave a 
livelier interest to him, and had he been sentenced to a 
lifers hard labor, it would have been more piquant to watch 
him than to have watched a stranger, whilst his deliverance 
was naturally more romantic than that of a stranger could 
have been. That which is nearest us touches us most. 

Tom had never greatly courted public notice in this way, 
though he had been honestly ambitious of it in another, 
and so soon as Baretti could be brought to reason he per- 
suaded him to leave the court. The approaches were crowd- 
ed, and the dock official leaned over and touched his late 
charge on the shoulder. 

You can come this way if you like, sir,^^ he said. 

You can get out quieter. 

Tom and Baretti slipped into the dock, and passing 
down a flight of stairs, found themselves by and by in a 
flagged court-yard, where a little bustle was going on. One 
blue-coated official was running across the yard with a 
carafe of water, and a glass, and another was kneeling and 


310 


hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 


fanning with a sheet of the Times at a recumbent fig- 
ure in a corner. An old woman of the rural middle-class 
was crying incoherently and wringing her hands above the 
recumbent figure. Tom knew this old woman, whose 
husband had at one time held a farm under Carroll senior, 
and he was crossing over toward her when an official met 
him with his hat. 

What is the matter? asked Tom. 

Lady fainted in court, sir,^^ said the man civilly. 

Shea’s related somehow to our superintendent, and he had 
her brought down here where it^s quiet. 

Tom took another step forward, and to his amazement 
recognized the prone figure as that of Azubah Moore. He 
made no ado about the matter, but seeing at a glance that 
the attendants were all helpless, he walked into the corner 
and assumed the direction of affairs. By and by the pa- 
tient, who was wofully pale, began to sigh and moan a 
little, and then her cheeks began to gather color. In a 
while she opened her eyes, and seeing Tom Carroll above 
her, looked at him with a calm, abstracted contentment for 
half a minute, then suddenly colored from the roots of her 
hair to the throat, hid her face with her hands, and tried 
to gain her feet. 

Lie still for a while. Miss Moore, said Tom. 

Yes, do, there^s a deary, lie still as the gentleman says, 
my love,^^ gabbled the useless old lady; but the girl was 
conscious now, as any girl would have been in the circum- 
stances, of the disorder of her dress and attitude, and her 
one desire was. to hide herself. A minute later she was 
afoot and clinging to the old lady^s arm. Then the super- 
intendent, her relative, abandoned the Times, and lend- 
ing his assistance, got the girl and the old lady both into 
his private apartments. 

Some of the officials came up and congratulated Tom on 
his escape, and he thanked them, and with Baretti moved 
off into the street, where knots of peojfie ran before him to 
cheer him, or interrupted him to shake hands with him, un- 
til he reached Baretti^s hotel and was hidden from the 
sight of the throng. 

Carroll,^ ^ said Baretti, marching up and down the 
sitting-room he had engaged beforehand for his friend^s 
privacy, there ^s a God in Heaven. It is not permitted 


hearts: queek^ kkave^ ahb deuce. Sll . 

in this world for a man to be a villain without suffering for 
it^ and His hand is over the innocent.''^ 

Poor Mark I'’ ^ said Tom. 

You mean that?^^ cried Baretti^ half wildly. 

Yes/^ said Tom. I mean it. 

You pity him?'’^ 

Why not?^^ Tom asked. I knew him when he was 
a lad^ and loved him for years. I never did him an ill 
turn in my life. Prom the time of our going to London I 
was his best friend. 

Are these your reasons for pitying him?^^ asked 
Baretti, scornfully. 

Why not?^^ asked Tom again. 

Would you let him go scot-free if you had him in your 
hands now?^^ The painter was on the edge of despising his 
friend. 

Scot-free?^^ asked Tom. What do you call scot- 
free? He has sold everything he had in the world and has 
bought remorse and shame with the proceeds of the sale. 
Pity him ! I never heard of anything so pitiful. ^ 

You are a foob Carrolb^^ said Barettb and an 
angel. He laughed oddly and took a turn or two about 
the room, and pausing suddenly, rang the bell, and on the 
waiters appearance demanded champagne. When the man 
had retired he took his friend by both hands. You will 
go back to your father now?^^ he asked. 

No,^^ said Tom, with an uncertain accent. I shall 
wait until he sends for me. Poor old governor. This will 
hit him hard. Everybody will know of it — the country 
will ring with it. He will almost die of shame. 

I shall go to see him,^'’ said Baretti, decisively, after a 
mementos pause. I shall tell him how wrong he has 
been from first to last, how much he has been deceived. 

Tom made no answer to this, but the waiter, returning a 
moment later with the wine, they drank to each other with 
a serious tenderness. 

‘‘Baretti,^^ said Tom, somewhat suddenly, “did that 
Italian woman volunteer to come here, or was she forced 
to do it?^'’ Baretti told the story of his interview Avith 
Caterina. “ Wonderful, said Tom. “ I could understand 
a sense of justice operating in such a case^^ but a ha^-^- like 
that goes beyond me. 

“ I do not think anybody but a woman could hate jst.. 


312 hearts: queek, kkave^ aistd deuce. 

Baretti answered. ‘ I read youi’ poets, and I believe in 
your Shakespeare: ^ Hell has no fury like a woman 
scorned. ^ 

What will happen to her?^^ asked Tom. Crawford 
said she was liable to imprisonment for life. 

There are extenuating circumstances,^^ returned Ba- 
retti, coolly. The signora '’s probable fate did not seem 
greatly to affect him. If I were judge, I should remem- 
ber what manner of man Mr. Mark Carroll has proved 
himself to be and should pass a formal sentence. 

Do you think Mark hated me, Baretti asked Tom, 
after a pause. Was it all cold-blooded, or had I made 
him hate me somehow? 

My dear Carroll, said the painter, you are a man 
of lofty genius, and you have a noble heart, but you do not 
understand human nature. You were in your cousin ^s 
way and he tried to put you out of it. That made him 
dislike you. Then you found him out, and thrashed him, 
and in common circumstances he would have allowed that 
to pass without disliking you much for it, because he is a 
villain with a great deal of common sense. But when this 
woman stabbed him, he could not give the truth of the 
case, because he would have ruined himself with your 
father by doing so, and he saw a sudden way to get rid of 
you, who were likely to be dangerous to him, and, perhaps, 
it was a little pleasant to be able to strike you back again. 
Your cousin is not a common character, because he com- 
bines micommon qualities of invention and courage with 
the common qualities of a rascal. By virtue of them he 
becomes great in degree, but you find the species to which 
he belongs in every street in London. He is an egotist. It 
is pleasant to me to think that he will suffer now in pro- 
portion to his egotism. 

Poor devil said Tom, half pitying, half contemptu- 
ous. 

Well,^^ returned Baretti, nodding his head with half a 
laugh, ‘‘ I will hate him enough for two, my friend. 

As they sat and talked over their wine, and afterward at 
dinner, they made many guesses at fact and motive, but it 
is hardly worth while for us who know the story to follow 
their talk. But it is worth while to record the fact that 
when the news of Markus escape reached Baretti, the little 
man, without a word to his friend, dashed out and saw the 


HEAKTS: QUEEIS^^ KE’AVE, AKD DEUCE. 313 

county inspector of police for a minute or two^ and^ as a 
result of the interview^, laid in his hands a ten-pound note 
and the written copy of that small handbill which Bethesda 
showed to the fugitive a little later on. Baretti was not 
only no longer poor, hut was well on the road to wealth by 
this time. He was a fashionable portrait painter, and was 
neck deep in profitable commissions. Nowadays people 
with money are content to pay such prices for the counter- 
feit presentment of themselves on canvas that a painter in 
fashionable request makes more money than a prosj)erous 
merchant, and Baretti, if he had been so minded, could 
have lived in the palace of which he had been used to 
dream in days when a palace to live in seemed a worthy 
object of ambition. Now he had nothing to be ambitious 
for, and he only worked out of a habit of industry. He 
lived on a twentieth part of his income, and stored up 
money without finding any particular satisfaction in it. 
His bowl of ministroni and his dish of macaroni and tomato 
made a dinner he would not have exchanged for all the 
luxuries of the best English table, and his quarter flask of 
Chianti was wine enough for a day^s drinking. In dress 
he was as rich and picturesque as the time would allow, 
but not extravagant, and he had no vices, so that now he 
had a command of money such as his old friend and patron 
had never enjoyed in his wealthiest days. 

Tom, unconscious of Baretti '’s action, went up to London 
in the morning, and the j)ainter stayed behind to interview 
the elder Carroll. He was disappointed, but not surprised, 
when Mr. Carroll declined to see him. 

Mr. Carroll says, sir, said the grave butler, that 
he will be glad to receive, by letter, any communication 
you may have to make to him. He desires me, sir, to con- 
vey his compliments to you, and to ask you if you will take 
any refreshment. 

He is unwell said Baretti. 

Well, he says not, sir,""^ returned the butler, but he 
looks it. May I offer you luncheon, sir?^^ 

Baretti thanked him, and walking down the avenue, re- 
entered the fly which had carried him from the station, and 
drove back again. Leggatt,*the station-master, recognized 
him, of course, and hovered about him in the hope of get- 
ting into conversation, but Baretti ^s no^s and yes^s froze 
him and he withdrew. There was nothing to hold Baretti 


314 HEARTS: QUEEK, KlSrAVE^ AHD BEECE. 

in the county town^ and he returned to follow Tom to Lon- 
don, and arrived at home in the evening. He had some- 
thing of a struggle within himself on leaving Overhill. He 
could see from the station the lofty trees which surrounded 
Lording^ s house, and he would fain have called there, but 
he was about his friend ^s business, and had been faithful so 
long that it had grown into a sort of habit with him. 

When he reached town he gave Tom the result of his 
visit to Overhill, and both of them thought the signs en- 
couraging. They sat talking until midnight, and had long 
ceased to expect a visitor, when the landMy tapped at the 
door, and announced that there was somebody below who 
wished to speak to Mr. Baretti. The painter ran down- 
stairs in his dressing-gown and slippers, and confronted, in 
the hall, a man of longshore aspect, who ducked and 
scraped at him grotesquely. 

What do you want?^^ 

I want to put this into your hands, sir,^^ said the man, 
producing a visiting-card, and handing it to Baretti. The 
visiting-card bore the name of Mr. Bethesda and the words, 
scrawled in pencil, Follow bearer. I have M. C. This 
was almost obliterated by friction in the waistcoat pocket 
of the messenger, and had evidently been written in great 
haste. Baretti stared at it doubtfully a moment and then 
made up his mind. 

Who gave you this?^'’ he asked. 

Mr. Bethesda,^ ^ said the Tongshore-man. 

And where am I to follow yoii?^^ 

‘‘Ik’s down Poplar way.'’^ The man was husky and 
smelt of rum, and altogether he was not an inviting com- 
panion for a journey — down Poplar way — to be begun at 
midnight. 

“ Come upstairs, said Baretti, and leading the way the 
man followed lumberingly , and stood ducking and making 
legs on the landing outside Tom^s room. “ Come in, 
said the painter, and he entered, fingering his tarpaulin 
hat and moving his feet uneasily. “ Carroll, look at this. 

‘ M. C. is understandable enough, eh?^^ 

Tom glanced at the card and then looked up excitedly. 

“ Shall you go?^^ 

“We had better go together,^ ^ said Baretti. “Come 
here a moment. Tom followed him into the bedroom. 

“ Is that Bethesda^s handwriting?^^ 


hearts: QUEEK^ KHAVE^ AHD DEUCE. SI 5 

I think so, but I am not siire.^^ 

Have you arms of any sort?^^ 

Why?^^ asked Tom. 

Have you arms of. any sort?^^ 

“ A revolver I used to practice with.^^ 

Cartridges 

Yes.^^ 

Load it and put it in your pocket. The whole thing 
may be a plot. You will come?^^ 

I will come; certainly. 

Baretti emerged into the sitting-room, and, having bade 
the man to wait there, he ran upstairs to put on boots, coat 
and hat, and returning in two or three minutes found Tom 
already equipped. The painter as he entered the room 
played rather ostentatiously with a brightly polished re- 
volver, and looked the messenger in the face as he did so. 

^Scuse me, sir,^'’ said th^Lman, hoarsely, I hopes you 
know how to ^andle that, sii. Baretti contented himself 
with a nod. Cos,^^ resumed the messenger, if you 
don% you ^11 excuse me, sir, but theyhu a ockard sort o^ 
thing to play with. I should leave it behind if I was you. 

Thank you,^^ returned Baretti, locking it and slipping 
it into his pocket. I prefer to take it with me. 

Very well, sir,^^ returned the messenger. Fm a 
single man myself. 

He shook his head rather doubtfully notwithstanding, 
and followed Baretti down the stairs with a hesitating step, 
whilst Tom brought up the rear. A four-wheeled cab stood 
at the door, and the man motioned them both toward it. 

Ride outside, Carroll, said Baretti in a whisper, 
“ and keep your eyes open.'^^ 

Tom climbed up beside the driver, and Baretti and the 
messenger entered. 

The man knows where to go?^^ asked Baretti. 

He knows where to go all right, responded the mes- 
senger, and lit a short clay pipe, whose ancient flavor com- 
pelled Baretti to smoke in self-defense. The journey was 
long, and, in spite of the surmises and expectations with 
which Baretti kept himself awake, dull and tedious. It 
had neither interruption nor adventure from beginning to 
end, and to both Baretti and Tom it seemed to have lasted 
a fortnight or thereabouts, when at last the rumbling 
vehicle pulled up at the end of a street from the top of 


316 HEAKTS: QUEEN;, KNAVE;, AND DEUCE. 

which could be seen the dull gleam of the river and the 
lamps of one or two craft that lay afloat. Here the mes- 
senger alighted. 

It^s nigh here,^^ he said briefly.’ You must let me 
go first. 

A policeman strolled by and turned his light upon the 
party. 

Officer;, said Baretti, I am not sure that I shall not 
want you with me. Come this way.^^ He slipped a few 
silver coins into the man^s hand as he spoke. The police- 
man closed his bulFs-eye with a snap and followed. The 
Tongshore-man took no notice, but shambled down the 
narrow street toward the river. When he had passed a 
dozen houses he paused, and waved a backward hand at 
his followers. They stood still in obedience to this gesture, 
and he went on for perhaps twenty yards, when he turned 
and entered at a little archwa^ at the bottom of a court. 
In two or three minutes he reappeared, and, in obedience 
to an onward wave of the hand, they followed him again. 
He led the way this time to the open door of a tumble-down 
and deserted-looking house, and entered with exaggerated 
creaking caution, and the three who followed caught his at- 
tempt at silence by sympathy, and went on tiptoe after him. 
The passage they entered was pitch dark, but no sooner 
were they all within than a door opened at the side, and 
Mr. Bethesda appeared holding a rushlight in a ginger-beer 
bottle. He nodded to Baretti, who came first, but looked 
disconcerted when he saw Tom and the officer. 

You may wait outside, policeman, he said. Pray 
walk in, Mr. Baretti. Pray walk in, Mr. Carroll. Joe, 
you can wait outside with the officer. 

Tom and Baretti entered the sordid room, and Bethesda 
closed the door. 

Why did you send for me, Mr. Bethesda asked the 
painter. 

Well, sir,^^ said Bethesda, respectfully and benevolent- 
ly, a copy of this little document fell into my hands to- 
day, and shortly afterward I met Mr. Carroll. I am not 
averse to the receipt of two hundred pounds, and I re- 
quested Mr. Warner — I beg pardon, Mr. Carroll — to ac- 
company me home. Mi\ Carroll bargained for my assist- 
ance in quitting the country. Gentlemen, I can rely upon 
your honor; Mr. Warner knows something which it would 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


317 


be impolitic in me to make public just at present, and if I 
surrender him into your hands I must make a bargain that 
I receive the two hundred pounds before he is arrested/^ 
Who is Mr. Warner asked Baretti, and what has 
he to do with it?^^ 

I beg pardon, sir,^^ said Bethesda, I spoke through 
force of habit. Mr. Carroll was long known to me as Mr. 
Warner.'’^ 

I am afraid, Mr. Bethesda, said Baretti, that we 
shall have to trouble you to be a little more explicit. You 
know Mark CarrolBs present whereabouts?^^ 

Yes, sir,^^ said Bethesda, respectfully wetting his 
thumb and finger and benevolently snuffing the rushlight. 
And you are prepared to surrender him to justice 
On condition, sir, of the immediate payment of the re- 
ward. Not that I doubt you, sir. It is necessary for me 
to leave the country if Mr. Carroll is arrested. 

In short, said Baretti, he has a hold of some sort 
upon you. Are you and he partners in any villainy ?^^ 

A little evasion of the customs duties, sir,^^ returned 
Bethesda. Mr. Warner was aware — I beg pardon, Mr. 
Carroll was aware — of some transactions of mine in respect 
to tobacco. He traded, I may say, upon that knowledge, 
and made considerable capital out of it. I have long 
ceased to have any connection with that traffic, but Mr. 
Carroll threatens, if he is taken, whether through my in- 
strumentality or not, that he will denounce me, and there- 
fore supposes that he has made me responsible for his 
safety. Now I am quite sure, gentlemen, that if I j)ut you 
in the way of apprehending Mr. Carroll, you will not inter- 
fere with my quitting the country. 

Do you suppose that I have brought two hundred 
pounds here with me to-night asked Baretti. 

Mr. Bethesda looked, or feigned to look, disappointed. 

If Mr. Thomas Carroll would midertake that it shall 
be paid to me by post,^^ he said, with deep respect, I 
think I might accept that. I have means of slipping down 
the river, gentlemen, and the Hotel Bristol at Boulogne 
will be my address in a day or two. 

But, Bethesda,^^ said Tom, with a look of some indig- 
nation and disgust, you appear to forget that I intrusted 
you with a considerable amount of property for sale, and 
that you have not yet accounted to me for it.""^ 


318 hearts: queen, knave, and deuce. 

The property, sir,^^ returned Bethesda, remains urn 
sold. That is a fact which you may verify to-morrow, and 
if my statement should prove untrue, I could not ask you 
to complete your bond. 

You will trust Mr. CarrolFs assurance asked Baretti. 

‘‘ Implicitly, sir,^^ returned Bethesda. 

I thought it was a motto with a rogue to trust no- 
body?^^ 

“ I am no rogue, sir,^^ said Bethesda, humbly. 

About that,^^ said Baretti, there may be two opin- 
ions. But, Carroll, we have our man, or so it seems. Give 
Bethesda the promise. 

It goes against the grain with me,^^said Tom. ‘‘I 
had rather let him go. 

I will not let him go,^^ replied Baretti, grimly, ‘‘ Mr. 
Bethesda, surrender this man to me, and you shall have 
your money remitted where you will. 

I beg your pardon, sir,^^ returned Bethesda. ‘‘ I have 
not the knowledge of you that I have of Mr. Carroll. If 
Mr. Carroll promises it shall be sent, I can go away con- 
tented. 

I can have nothing to do with it,^^ cried Tom. I 
will not make a bargain with one scoundrel to catcli 
another. 

Bethesda shrugged his shoulders slightly, as if to protest 
against this summary judgment of himself. Baretti turned 
away indignantly. 

If you will wait until to-morrow I will give you my 
check for the money, and you can cash it and go where you 
will. 

No, sir,^^ said Bethesda, firmly. If Mr. Warner — 
Mr. Carroll blows the gaff whilst I am in England I am 
not safe. They have nosed me already more than once. I 
canT risk it.^^ 

“Will you take my written pledge to forward the 
money?^^ demanded Baretti. 

“ I am very sorry, sir,^^ said Bethesda, “ but I couldn^t 
get back here to enforce it. I shall be denounced, sir, 
directly Mr. Carroll reaches the police station. I have 
never infringed the moral law,^ ^ he added, with an air of 
piety, “ but I have broken the arbitrary provisions of my 
country's rulers, and if I am mentioned I am no longer 
safe.'^^ 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


319 


Very well, Mr. Betliesda,^^ said Baretti; if that is 
tlie case, unless you give me the information I require, I 
shall find myself compelled to abuse your admirable candor 
by calling in the officer outside.'’^ 

‘‘I beg your pardon, sir,'’^ Bethesda responded. I 
will rely upon your honor. If you will come this way, gen- 
tlemen. Mr. Carroll must already be anxious about me.^’ 
He led the way from the house, and Baretti gave a sig- 
nal to the officer to follow. 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 

There was a misty light in the court as Bethesda led the 
way across it, and one or two stars were struggling to be 
seen through the gray clouds which overcast the sky. A 
moist wind blew up from the river, and a dreary cry sailed 
over the water from a barge on the further side. It was 
after two o^ clock in the morning, and everything looked 
waste and dark and cold. Tom^s quick sympathy found 
all this match well with his conception of Cousin Markus 
inward state, and he had no hunger to be revenged on one 
whose crimes had already made him so forlorn. 

At the exit from the court Bethesda paused, and ad- 
dressed his followers in a whisper: 

^Ht’s the last house on the left — ^by the river. It over- 
looks the river, and he thinks I have gone away to make 
arrangements with a man I know for a boat. I don^t think 
he has any arms, but hefil be nasty if he has. Perhaps 
youM better let the officer go first, gentlemen. 

The officer stood still with the rest to listen, and the 
light of a lamp fell full upon his face. Mr. Bethesda read 
there no sign of an enthusiastic reception of his plan. 

WhaPs the job, gentlemen?^^ inquired the officer du- 
biously. 

Come in with me, Baretti,^ said Tom. “ Since the 
thing has to be done, let us do it.^^ 

Very well/^ returned Baretti. One hand toyed with 
the revolver in his pocket, and he passed the other through 
Tom^s arm. Bethesda led the way once more, and they 
followed, stepping boldly, though Bethesda began to go on 
tiptoe. 


320 


HEAKTS: QUEEE", KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 


In there/ ^ whispered the informer, the room before 
yon/’ 

The two friends walked through an open door-way into 
an unevenly paved passage. There Baretti took the lead, 
and after a step or two in the darkness, struck agamst the 
door and threw it open. The room thus revealed to sight 
contained but one occupant, and he was recognizable at a 
glance, though he had assumed a rough great-coat of pilot 
cloth, and a huge comforter encircled his throat. Two 
candles burned upon a foul deal table, and Mark OarrolFs 
face glared pale between them as he half rose and faced his 
visitors. He had the look of a man who had been dozing, 
and for a second he was uncertain of their identity. But he 
had no sooner made them out than he cast both arms 
abroad and sent the two rushhghts flying. Next he seized 
the slight table, and lifting it over his head dashed it with 
all his force in the direction of the door- way, and followed 
it with a rush. Luckily for Baretti and Tom, the clumsy 
missile, hurled at hap-hazard in the dark, caught the edge 
of the door, whence it fell minus a leg. It was no time for 
Mark to elaborate means of escape, and he had no time to 
think that his own weapon would prove a barrier against 
him. As he ran forward the table took him at the knees, 
and he plunged head foremost at the pit of Tom^s stomach. 
It is one thing to have benevolent scruples about pros- 
ecuting a criminal who is a relative and was a friend, 
and it is another to And yourself with your nerves sud- 
denly alert, and your blood suddenly afire at actual 
grips with that same enemy, as he tries to bolt before you 
have had a chance tf letting him ofl. Tom, though Markus 
velocity and weight doubled him up for a moment, pinned 
the fugitive before he could regain his feet, and held on 
like iron. Mark lay quiet and sullen, seeing the other 
figures at the outer door-way, and recognizing the hopeless- 
ness of the struggle. 

Baretti struck a light and found the candles. They were 
broken, but he relit them and stuck them against the wall 
by their own grease. Then he dragged the table out of 
the door- way, and Mark came in submissively with Tom, 
who kicked the door close, and released his prisoner. 
Markus unconscious hands arranged the great red comforter 
round his neck and smoothed his-disen’dered hair. Then, 
for a second or two, he stood panting and glaring, with his 


hearts: queeh/ khaye, akb beijce. 321 

fingers entwined in tire comforter, looking like a man with 
a halter round his throat. Tom looked back at him stead- 
ily, but with a sort of wonder. 

Damn you!'’^ said Mark, breathing the words slowly 
and softly through clinched teeth. 

I never did you an ill turn in my life, Mark,^^ said 
Tom. “ I befriended you; I gave you money. I never 
spared myself in your services. What made you hate me 
so?"’"' 

Hate you?^'' said Mark. I never hated you, you but- 
tery nincompoop. 

You waste words with him,^^ Baretti broke in, con- 
temptuously. You might as well talk to a wild beast. 
He has neither heart nor conscience. 

Your friend '’s star is in the ascendant, Mr. Baretti,^^ 
said Mark. He has a rare taste in sycophants. Stick to 
him, and you will prosper. 

Mr. Mark Carroll,'’^ said the painter, when your 
rattlesnake is killed, and you hold his teeth and his poison 
bags in your hand, you may regard the venomous apparatus 
with interest, but it can not wound you any longer.''^ 

You were discerning enough, Mr. Baretti, said Mark, 
to observe just now that words are wasted on me. You 
have got me. What are you going to do with me? I am 
tired. I am not altogether recovered from a recent illness. 
I am down upon my luck, at odds with fortune, and likely 
to be poor company for a pair of triumphant young fellows 
like you. I canT dismiss you, morels the pity. It would 
be useless to ask you to call to-morrow, I suppose.'’^ 

Tom tasted to the heart the bitterness of this bravado. 

Baretti, he said, turning, to the painter, leave us 
for a moment. 

This is my affair, Carroll,^ ^ said Baretti. I will 
leave him, but I will be played off with no remorseful 
cheat. 

Go, said Tom, beseechingly, leave us for a mo- 
ment. Baretti left the room and closed the door behind 
him. They heard his feet stumble on the ill-lighted pas- 
sage, and Tom waited for a little while before he addressed 
his cousin. ‘‘ Mark,^^ he said then, we have been dis- 
graced enough already, and I want to spare my father what 
I can. I paid off all old scores with you at Overhiil. You 
have made new ones since, but they have been paid off too. 


322 


HEAETS: QUEEK, K2^AVE, AND DEUCE. 


I don't profess to have one scrap of friendship or regard 
left for you. I don^t profess to have much pity.^^ 

Curse your pity/^ said Mark. Get it over. 

I have not moved in this matter willingly/^ the other 
went on, but Baretti has offered a reward of two hundred 
pounds for your apprehension, and he is bent upon sur- 
rendering you to justice. I think Baretti values me enough 
to give up that pleasure for my sake. But you have some 
of my father^ s property in your possession, and you must 
surrender it. 

Mark fell upon his knees and dragged a portmanteau 
from a shadowy corner. This he opened, and from it he 
extracted a bundle, which he handed to his cousin. Tom 
turned over its contents by the light of the two guttering 
candles, each of which had by this time a spire of soot 
above it on the dirty whitewash of the wall. 

The bank-notes are not here, I think,^^ he said quietly. 
Mark produced his pocket-book and, without a word, took 
out the notes and placed them in his cousin^ s outstretched 
hand. Tom set them with the rest, and put them in his 
pocket. I shall pay the reward from this,^^ he said, tap- 
ping his breast to indicate the notes, and I think my 
father will hold that excusable. Baretti will let you go at 
my request, and I shall hope to escape the disgrace of your 
trial and conviction. It may not be too late, even yet, 
Mark, to try straight courses. 

My dear Tom/^ said Mark. You overestimate 
yourself if you think that your powers of oratory are 
stronger or more persuasive than the circumstances I stand 
in. You win. I lose. Let that be enough for you.""^ 

DonT you think — apart from your loss in the game 
you played — that ' you might have acted better by an old 
friend?'’^ 

You are letting me go, Tom, and you have a right to 
air your goodness. I always told you that our j^hilosophies 
were wide apart. You side with the ruck, who pretend, 
and I side with the few who make no pretenses. ^ 

You!^^ cried Tom. You make no pretenses? You, 
the perjured liar, hiding and skulking here from justice! 
You, the candid man! If you saw yourself as I see you, 
you woujd die for shame. 

The dying gladiator had a right to cover up his fa.ce so 
that no man should see his pains,^^ said Mark. Let me 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 323 

wear my mask of cynical villainy to the end, Tom, since I 
have worn it so long. You shall be as justly indignant, 
and as gloriously magnanimous as you wish, without com- 
plaint from me. I am used to my part; you are used to 
yours. We could scarcely play in any other character just 
yet. And, for God’s sake, Tom, get it over, and let me 
go. I am deadly tired, and I am ill, and I am just as will- 
ing to go into a police cell as to be set at liberty to starve. 

Tom looked at him for a moment, and then, with a nod 
or two which bespoke his surrender of the puzzle Mark pre- 
sented to him, he turned to the door and called Baretti. 
The painter entered and looked from one to the other. 
Mark dragged the broken table to the wall and, propping 
it there, sat down upon it, and with great diligence pared 
and- cleaned his nails. 

Baretti,^'' said Tom, I have promised Mark that he 
shall go. 

have promised myself that he shall not go, said 
Baretti. You shall do no such monstrous injustice as to 
throw a villain like this loose upon the world. Justice 
and common sense cry out against it."^^ 

Have I no right to save myself a little pain and 
shame?^^ Tom asked. Have I not suffered almost 
enough at this man^s hands already? Has not my father 
suffered almost enough already? As for revenge — ^look at 
the man and think of the sense of defeat and shame that 
gnaws that hard heart of his. Do you fancy I want more 
than that, or could have more if I tried for it?^^ 

Mark looked up and tried to smile. Well hit, Tom!^^ 
he said. Tom is quite right. Signor Baretti. I am an 
object for commiseration. 

The painter looked at him with passionate disdain. 

Go!^^ he cried, falling back upon his own language in 
his wrath. Live chained to yourself, you dog, and eat 
your own heart till it poisons you!^'’ Tom, not understand- 
ing the words, and misinterpreting the fiery gestures which 
accompanied them, put himself between Mark and Baretti.^ 
Let him go, Carroll, if you will,^^ said the painter, with^ 
sudden quiet. You are right, perhaps. Let him go. 

I can appreciate the delicacy of your motives, Toin,^^ 
said Mark. But you appear to forget that my escape 
does not depend upon you alone. I must say as Shylock 
aaid, that you tako my life when you do take the means 


324 hearts: queeh, khaye^ and deuce. 

whereby I live. You have stripped me. I have no means 
of getting away. You will have me caught^ and I shall 
besmear that delicate family honor of yours^, unless you 
supply me with the wherewithal for travel. 

Without a word Tom took the bundle of notes from his 
pockety and having counted out fifty pounds by the dim 
light of the two flaring candles, now very near their end, 
he handed that sum to Mark — who counted it over again, 
and disposed it m his pocket book, also without a word. 

You may go/^ said Tom, after a moment ^s pause. 
Mark peered about him on the floor, and, having found a 
cap there, put it on and walked from the room. The 
others followed, and saw him meet Bethesda in the outer 
street. 

I am not valiant, neither, said Mark, with a bitter 
laugh, but every puny whipster gets my sword. Even 
this poor devil can despise me. Well, Bethesda, have you 
made your two hundred?^"^ 

Bethesda stood silent and amazed for a while, but find- 
ing voice at last, he turned upon Tom, and almost gasped 
at him — 

You have let him go, sir?^*^ 

I have let him go/’ said Tom. 

Then,^-" cried Bethesda desperately, my life isnT 
worth a minute^s purchase. 

My dear Bethesda,^'’ said Mark, “ I am reformed. 
My cousin^ s nobility has melted me, and I am a disciple of 
the creed of ISTamby Pamby. To you as the chief instru- 
ment of my conversion — inasmuch as you brought the con- 
verter and myself ’ together — I owe the most heartfelt 
thanks. I may be able to repay you some day, Bethesda, 
I should like to heap coals of fire upon you, Bethesda. I 
should also like to heap you upon coals of fire. Good- 
night, Tom. Good-night, Signor Baretti. Good-night, 
Bethesda. Good-night to you, sir,^-" to the officer. ‘‘ One 
of these days we may be better acquainted. You, I be- 
lieve,^ ^ he continued, turning to the "^longshore-man, 
will answer to the name of Joe.'^'^ 

IVe got a right to answer to it,"’"^ said the Tongshore- 
man, seein"’ as it^s the name as I was crissened under. 

Do you know what name I answer to?^"’ asked Mark. 
‘‘No, I doffit; and whaPs more, I don^’t want to/’ said 
the man, 


hearts: queeh^ khave, ahd deuce. 325 

Curiosity is sometimes a vice, and it^s opposite a vir- 
tue/^ said Mark quietly. Are you willing to earn a sov- 
ereign easily 

I^'m allays that/-’ returned the man, provided ik's to 
be done honest, mind you. 

A tribute to your presence, officer,^^ Mark observed, 
turning courteously to the policeman. There is a port- 
manteau of mine in-doors, Joe. Find that, if you please, 
and then oblige me by finding a boat. I want to drop 
down river this morning. 

The Tong-shore man went into the house for the port- 
manteau and brought it back with him. Mark lit a cigar 
in the interim and smoked with a pretense of tranquillity. 
When the man emerged from the door-way he motioned to 
him to lead, and followed him toward the river. Tom and 
Baretti watched him till he turned from sight, and each 
drew a breath of relief when he was gone. 

You doiiT want me, gentlemen?^^ said the policeman. 

Fm on my beat, thaFs certain, but I havenH touched 
my mates at either end of it, and theyTl think there^s 
something up.*”^ 

Baretti slipped four or five shillings into the many's hand, 
and he departed w^ell satisfied. 

Good-night, Bethesda,^^ said T* a, moving away. 

Your money shall be paid you, provided that you have 
kept your trust. 

I beg your pardon, sir,^^ said Bethesda, but did you 
tell Mr. Mark Carroll — did you give him any idea as to 
where I meant to go, sir?^^ 

None,'’^ said Tom. 

I am not safe from him anywhere, said Bethesda 
wretchedly. He^s a perfect fiend. There is no bottom 
to his cunning, and he doesiiT know what pity means. 

You should have thought of these things before you 
earned your money, said Baretti, as he turned to go. 
Bethesda seemed to cling to them. 

I made arrangements, gentlemen,*^^ said he, to drop 
down river this morning, but he has gone before me, and I 
dare not do it. He^s got pluck enough besides that, gen- 
tlemen, to walk into the first police station and give in- 
formation against ine.^^ 

You have done your v/ork and earned your money at 
your own risk, Bethesda/ ^ said Baretti, 


326 


HEAKTS: QUEE]Sr^ KNAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


But we never bargained that he was to be let otf, gen- 
tlemen/^ cried Bethesda. ‘^He^s at large, and I have 
made an enemy for life/^ 

‘^JN’aturally/^ said Baretti. Good-night/^ He drew 
Tom away, and the miserable Bethesda stood for awhile 
looking after them. In two or three minutes he recovered 
something of his self-possession and made his way through 
the silent streets toward his own residence. He had a walk 
of some two .miles before him, and he was nervous about 
all the corners and all the shadowy places. His home 
reached at last, he admitted himself by a latch-key, and, 
moving like a ghost, took up a portmanteau and a bottle 
from the room in which he had conversed with Mark a few 
hours earlier. Bearing these with him, he stole out at the 
back door and crept along a weedy garden to the river-side. 
There, at the foot of a set of slimy little steps, lay a boat 
with a heap of tarpaulin at the bottom of it. As Bethesda 
made his cautious way down the steps the tarpaulin 
moved, and a man appeared from beneath it. 

That you, master? You^re precious late. It^s cold 
waiting I can tell you. 

Take a little comfort, George,^'’ said Bethesda, proffer- 
ing the man the bottle. The fellow took it and drank 
greedily. 

That^s the right sort,^^ he said, as he restored the 
cork. That warms a man.^^ 

Quietly down stream, George,'’^ said Bethesda, bestow- 
ing the portmanteau at the stern. He took the tiller 
ropes, the man cast loose the painter and took the sculls. 
The boat glided into the center of the river, and Bethesda 
shook his hand lightly toward the house from which he 
was retreating. The bill of sale, said Bethesda inward- 
ly, will take effect to-morrow. The two hundred is 
providential, but — 

His thoughts were comfortless , and he kept a keen look- 
out ahead. All the shadowy places were dangerous to him 
in his fancy, and he steered from side to side of the 
stream, and took fright a thousand times. He reflected 
that he was doing the safest thing after all. The Thames 
is a biggish river, and it is possible for two people to be on 
it at the same time without each being aware of the other. 
His enemy had started an hour ago, had begun two miles 
lower down, and had not the remotest reason to believe 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 327 

that he would follow. He was convinced that he was safe 
enough^ and in spite of his conviction he was very niueh 
afraid. 

She^s lying off Greenwich, isn^t she, George?’^ he 

What, the ^ Goshawk said the man. Oh! she^s 
there right enough. 

She isn^t doing anything — Mr. Bethesda paused 
with a lingering accent of inquiry. 

Fishy said the man, with a laugh. She^s done 
with that sort of game, I should fancy. The blue uns is 
too fly, sir.^^ 

Mr. Bethesda sighed an assent to this poetic statement of 
a grief. 

Yes,^^ he said, the customs officers are exceedingly 
alert; exceedingly alert. 

Alart! cuss ^em,^^ said the man with the seulls, and 
finding himself unequal to the expression of his feelings, 
he spat vehemently. 

The moon had fallen, and except for the twinkling lights 
that shone here and there the eye found nothing to rest 
upon outside the sweep of the sculls. Bethesda peered 
eagerly forward and saw a million things which had no 
reality. Hulking ships moved up to override the boat and 
melted when they touched her, and shadowy craft of 
smaller size with a shadow^ s silence crossed her course, 
Bethesda holding his breath until the expected collision 
came and his own boat floated through the phantom. But 
in a while the black air began to take a tone of gray, and a 
hulk came out coldly here and there. Then the mantle of 
the night was lifted by another fold, and he could see the 
shore on either side of the stream. 

IFs a longish pull to Greenwich,, governor, said the 
oarsman. 

You don^t earn thirty shillings every day,^^ returned 
Bethesda, dryly. 

ain^t a-grumblin%^^ the man answered. You 
allays paid a fairish price, governor. It ainH that. The 
walls of my stomach is regular falling in, I do assure you. 
There^s a public-house a half mile down, asTl be open by 
the time we get to it. A bit o^ cold meat^d be the makin^ 
of me. TheiVs no hurry for the ^ Goshawk,^ governor.^"’ 

, Very well,^^ said Bethesda, though he dreaded the 


828 HEAKTS: QUEEK, KKAYE, DEUCE. 

land. It was absurd, of course, to fancy that Mark Car- 
roll would be so great a fool as to walk into danger, as he 
would have to do if he betrayed his betrayer now. I3ut to 
the criminal mind, when it is constituted on the pattern of 
Mr. Bethesda^s, it does not greatly matter that any dread 
may be ridiculously unfounded. It sees its ghosts, and 
knows that they are ghosts and nothing more, but it ex- 
pects a solid hand to stretch out from each of them, and 
mental certainty and nervous fear are constantly at war. 
Bethesda grew more and more nervous as time went on, 
and in the gathering light he watched the shore and the 
river with increased misgiving. In the course of some 
three quarters of an hour, for the tide was running strongly 
up stream and their progress was extremely slow, they 
came to the house of which the man had spoken, and he, 
pulling in shore, made fast the boat at the bottom of a set 
of slimy steps, and landed. Bethesda, with a big cloak 
pulled high about his neck, followed, up the slimy steps 
and into a littered yard. A sensation he had never experi- 
enced before was upon him, and he seemed surrounded by 
some such nameless and unformed terror as that which at- 
tacks men in nightmares. It was raining, the morning 
wind was keen, and he pulled the cloak higher about his 
face, as with bent head he crossed the yard toward the open 
door. The man pushed in before him past a lounging 
figure there, and Bethesda essayed to follow, but the figure 
planting itself straight across the door-way, he looked up 
with a start and saw Mark Carroll. He recoiled in dismay, 
and Mark followed with one forward step. 

‘‘ Well, Bethesda?^^ said Mark coolly. W^e seem fated 
to encounter each other. ^ 

Bethesda with a white face looked at him for a second or 
two, and then glanced right and left, as if looking for a 
chance to run away. 

We can be dangerous to each other, Mr. Warner, he 
said, wiien he had a little recovered himself, but is it 
worth our while, sir? DonT you think we had better to 
avoid each other, sir?’'' 

DonT you think,^^ asked Mark, in answer, that you 
had better have put that question to yourself last night 

I foresaw what would happen, sir,^^ returned Bethesda. 

I knew your cousin was not the man to proceed to ex- 
tremities. 


hearts: queeH:, khaye, ahd deuce. 329 

Bethesda/^ said Marky this is not the time or the 
place of payment, but I have a score against you, and I 
shall pay it. Trust me.^^ 

I beg your pardon, sir,"’"' cried Bethesda, with a ghost 
of his habitual smile, ‘^but donT you think that just at 
present it might be worth your while to overlook last night, 
sir.^ It may be in my power to serve you now, Mr. 
Warner. It canT be comfortable for you to be in Eng- 
land, and the regular channels are pretty closely watched, 
sir, I suppose.'’^ 

You ask me to trust you again,^^ said Mark, to be 
betrayed again 

They had walked away from the house-door by a mutual 
instinct of fear, lest they should be overheard, and now 
they were near the edge of the quay. 

Betrayed, sir,^^ said Bethesda. What for? What 
could I get by betraying you? I should only get myself 
into danger. 

There was something in it, Mark thought. Bethesda had 
run his risk once for the sake of pay. He was not likely 
to run it again for nothing. 

I am leaving the country myself, Mr. Warner, Be- 
thesda continued in a whisper, and with quick, fearful 
glances right and left. I can find you a safe passage over 
to Boulogne, and there you have the world before you. 
What^s the use of our trying to do each other harm, sir, 
when if you strike a. blow at me it must be fatal to your- 
self, and if I strike a blow at you, I run my own neck into 
a noose for nothing ?^^ 

Mark laid both hands on the cloak Bethesda wore and 
held him firmly. It was the gesture he had used with his 
cousin Tom at the beginning of their quarrel at Overhill, 
and it was a thing that came natural to him and was sig- 
nificant of character. 

What are you going to do?^^ cried Bethesda, with a 
terror-stricken face. They were standing within a yard of 
the edge of the quay, and there was a look in Markus eyes 
which filled him with fear and loosened his knees beneath 
him. Mark saw his dread and smiled grimly. 

You poor coward,'’^ he said. Listen to me.'^^ 

Yes, sir,^^ said Bethesda. Mark could feel him trem- 
bling. 


330 


HEARTS: QUEElSr^ KNAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 


Do you think/ ^ he asked, that it is worth my while 
to throw you over there? Can you swim, you quaking 
coward 

'No/^ said Bethesda; not a stroke/^ 

For the first and last time in his life a real rage un- 
leashed itself in Mark CarrolFs heart, and for the first and 
last time he acted on an impulse. There had not been a 
thought of murder in his mind. He was one of the unlike- 
liest men in the world to think of it as a practical method 
of revenge. But Bethesda^s cowardice put it there; the 
opportunity was there — a sudden swirl and rush of hate 
and rage filled every cranny of his mind. 

Hot a stroke, said Bethesda. 

Then damn you — drown!^'’ Mark hissed between his 
teeth, and shot Bethesda back into the stream. But the 
heavier man clutched at him like lightning, and th^y fell 
together, Bethesda underneath. The water at the quay- 
side was deep, but they went down until they touched the 
bottom, and Bethesda held on madly. Mark set his knees 
against the other^s breast and tore himself away, but al- 
most before he reached the surface he felt a pair of arms 
closing round his neck. He turned to free himself, and in 
the same instant struck out strongly with both feet, so that 
he rose high in the water, and thq groping hands missed 
his neck, but clutched his left arm, and there was Bethes- 
da^s face below him at the surface gasping and glaring. 
Mark struck it again and again, and Bethesda let out a se- 
ries of gurgling yells and went down once more, dragging 
his enemy with him. This time Mark got his feet against 
Bethesda^s body, and struck out with all his might, but the 
drowning wretch held on. They came up a second time, 
and Mark could see the slow light heave at him as he 
struggled to the surface. When he reached it, a hand 
clutched his hair and held on tightly. Another hand 
clutched Bethesda, and the two were hauled into a boat. 
Mark looked round, and saw that the pier from which he 
and Bethesda had fallen was by this time forty yards away. 
Bethesda was still holding to his sleeve, and was howling 
and spluttering still. 

He tried to drown me. There^s a warrant out against 
him for perjury. 

Mark raised his hand and struck Bethesda in the face. 
‘‘Hillo! Stop that I'’ ^ cried an authoritative voice. 


hearts: queeK;, kkave^ akd deuce. 331 

Mark looked round upon the man who seized him, and 
then upon the boat^s crew and the boat. 

A detachment of the Thames police, I believe/' he 
said, quietly. Very well. This gentleman is the largest 
smuggler in London — Mr. Bethesda. You can take care 
of both of us.-"^ 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

'No news from the governor, Baretti?^’ said Tom, on 
a day three months later. He was dressed for a journey, 
and his room was in such disorder as with some men results 
from the hasty packing of a portmanteau. 

^^Xonews,^^ returned Baretti. ^^I had hoped for an 
answer which would have made this unnecessary, or, in- 
deed, impossible. 

Why?^'’ said Tom. I gne you my word, Baretti, 
that if it had not been for the things my father has had to 
suffer I should have been glad to see affairs turn out so. 
Here^s an honorable living in my fingers, and a chance to 
see a little bit of the world in various aspects. You donT 
appreciate the importance of the position, Baretti. I am 
the great Hoffmann^s solo violinist, and the second captain 
of his host. He will play in the course of the tour a dozen 
compositions of mine, and my fame will be carried into the 
corners of the earth. But my cab is at the door and the 
train awaiteth me. Good-bye, old fellow. God bless you.'’^ 

Write often,^"" said Baretti. Good-bye. 

Tom took up his violin-case from the table .and ran 
down-stairs. Baretti waved him an adieu from the open 
window as he came upon the street, and Tom entering his 
cab was driven away. Borne to the railway station, he 
took a third-class ticket — resolute to begin his new career 
economically — and in due time was landed at Birmingham, 
where he drove to an hotel, dined, and dressed in time for 
the first concert of the great Herr Hoffmann^s provincial 
tour. He walked to the Town Hall and found his own 
name blazoned on the placards outside in red letters almost 
as big as Hoffmann ^s own. There was a great crowd out- 
side the building, and cabs and carriages were rolling up 
at a great pace. He never thought for a moment that 
Hoffmann had engaged him for any other reason than a 
warm approval of his musical powers might furnish. But 


332 hearts: queeh^ khaye, ahd deuce. 

the great Herr^ though a severe musician,, was a keen man 
of business into the bargain, and a born showman. He 
knew, if Tom did not, the value of a man whose name for 
the past three or four months had been in everybody's 
mouth as the hero of one of the most exciting real-life 
dramas the living public could remember. 

Tom made his way to the side-door to which he had been 
directed by his chiefs s last letter, and, being admitted, 
found himself in, the midst of a little crowd of his fellow- 
artists. He had rehearsed with them in London, and knew 
most of them by sight, but he had as yet not even a casual 
acquaintance with any of his confreres. So with a nod 
here and there in answer to the recognizing salutes of one 
or two of them, he walked to one end of the room and 
read absently the big poster announcing the concert. So- 
prani: Madame Fiorituri and Miss Moore. Who was 
Miss Moore? Gould it be possible that his old play-fellow 
and protegee had already advanced far enough to be en- 
gaged by Hoffmann? 

He was hoping it might prove so, for her sake, when the 
chief ^s voice aroused him, and the instrumentalists began 
to move toward the orchestra. Hoffmann, beholding him, 
shook hands in a very friendly fashion, and was evidently 
disposed to make much of him. In a little while the busi- 
ness of the night began, and Tom was too much absorbed 
in his work to think more of the name he had seen upon 
the placard until the owner of it appeared before him on 
the platform. Azubah was prepared for this meeting, and' 
saluted him gravely. The song she sung had an orchestral 
accompairiment, and that fact kept Tom in his place, 
otherwise he might have met her below, and have spoken to 
her. When she sung she surprised and pleased him, and 
he was delighted that the audience recalled her. He had 
no more to do until the beginning of the second part of the 
concert; and, on her disappearance from the platform, he 
followed. 

I wondered if it would turn out to be you whose name 
I saw advertised for the concert,^'’ he said when he had 
overtaken her. You have improved immensely. You 
will rnake a name. Miss Moore, and nobody will be better 
pleased than I shall. 

He thought as he looked at her that she had improved 
in more respects than one. To talk of beauty unadorned 


HEAKTS: QUEEN;, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 333 

is all very well in ifcs way, no doubt, but there are some 
people who pay for dressing. Tom had never seen the girl 
in anything but the simplest costume until now, and she 
showed to surprising advantage. She had made her dress 
with her own hands, but she had caught the best points of 
the prevailing style, and the mode and the material alike 
suited her. Whilst Tom spoke to her she drew an opera- 
cloak over her white shoulders, and pulled the hood, which 
was lined with snow-white down, over her head. 

Do you really think my singing improved, Mr. Car- 
roll?'''' she asked. 

Wonderfully,^^ said Tom; wonderfully."^ She 
blushed with pleasure. 

You gave me an admirable master,"" she said, shyly. 

He made me work very hard, but I did not like him any 
the less for that."" 

Nobody can make anything of art,"" said Tom, who 
is afraid of work."" He was looking at her with a new in- 
terest all the time. She was not what he would have called 
a lady. His father "s manner of separating ranks had natu- 
rally descended to him. But he admitted that she made 
so excellent an imitation that nobody could have told the 
difference. Her father was a half -bankrupt farmer, and 
her mother kept a dairy in South London, but, so far as 
sight or hearing went, just now, she might have been born 
in a mansion, and bred all her days in the best society. 

How did you come to meet Hoffmann?"" he asked. Are 
you with us for the whole of the English tour?"" 

‘‘ Yes,"" she said, answering the last question first. I 
went to Mr. Hoffmann and asked him to hear me sing."" 

That was courageous,"" said Tom, with a laugh. 

Was it?"" she asked, simply. I wanted to do some- 
thing for father."" 

‘‘ What did Hoffmann say,"" asked Tom, at first? I 
can tell what he said at last."" 

I told him why I had called, and he threw the piano 
open, and made a motion with his hand. I sat down at 
once and sung. When I had done he said ‘ something 
else." I snug something else, and then he said, ^ Leave 
your address. Good-morning." He wrote two days later 
offering me an engagement."" 

‘‘ Weren"t you afraid of him?"" asked Tom. 

Oh,"" she answered, not at all. I had heard that he 


334 HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE^ AHD DEUCE. 

was odd and eccentric before I called, and I knew partly 
what to expect. I should have liked it better if he had 
given me a little time to prepare myself, but I am not very 
nervous about singing now. 

Now Tom had nothing very special to say to Miss Moore 
so far as he remembered just then, but she had one or two 
things which she wanted very especially to say to him, and 
as yet could not. She had no right to speak to him of his 
private news, and yet it seemed so cold and thankless a 
thing (after all she owed him and all he had done for her) 
to meet him here in his fallen fortunes, and show him no 
sympathy. 

I suppose not,^^ said Tom, absently, to her last state- 
ment. He had only half heard it, and was not paying any 
great attention to her speech, and now he took to trifling 
with his watch-chain and looked, straight over her head 
meantime, as if he saw something sorrowful at a great 
distance. She noted this keenly, and her heart stirred with 
pity over him. Something that was not pity moved within 
her also, but she had neither the desire nor the power to 
define that tender emotion. Girls of twenty or thereabouts 
are not greatly given to self-analysis by nature. It is likely 
enough that Tom^s troubles had given a tone of sorrowful- 
ness to his expression of face when he had nothing to ani- 
mate him and was silent. She was thinking of his altered 
fortunes, and it seemed natural to fancy or to feel that he 
was thinking of them also. 

I am sorry to see you here, Mr. Carroll. 

Her voice sounded still in her own ears, and he looked 
at her with an almost startled air, or she might have doubt- 
ed that she had spoken, the words had at last so uncon- 
sciously framed themselves. He looked at her and read 
her meaning at once. 

Thank you,^^ he said, answering her meaning and not 
her words. I shall like the life very much, I have no 
doubt. My father is very unhappy, and I am sorry about 
that. There is nothing else to grieve me greatly. 

It struck him directly he had spoken that this was an 
odd thing to say, and a second or two later it came into 
his mind that it was much more singular to have meant it. 
How little he thought about Mary now! She had used to 
be constantly in his thoughts, and now he felt with a self- 
accusation of disloyalty that her image had been banished 


HEAKTS: QUEEK, KNAYE, AKD DEUCE. 335 

from his .mind. Azubah was hailed a moment later by 
that sanie country-looking woman in whose care Tom had 
last seen her. The old lady bobbed at Tom when slie rec- 
ognized him^, and was plainly embarrassed. He nodded 
back at her with a cordial recognition. 

I shall see you again, Mr. Carroll,^ ^ said Azubah, tim- 

idly. 

Yes,^^ he said, somewhat more gravely than he intend- 

; ed, we shall meet often. 

I She went away half ready to cry, thinking that she had 
exceeded her right and had offended him. He sat down in 
a corner of the room and tried, by thinking, to recall that 
lost image of whose existence he^had just been reminded — 
the image he had sworn a thousand times never to forget. 
It had, of course, seemed impossible to forget her. It was 
now just as impossible to recall her, or to bring back the 
old warmth and tenderness of heart. He wondered if she 
had ceased to think of him in the course of these eventful 
months. He knew that she must have heard of him often 
enough, and he was ready to writhe with shame at the 
memory of his own publicity. How had she thought of 
him? Had she believed in him all through, or had she 
waited for the proof of his innocence to appear? In either 
case he was soiled enough to be distasteful to himself. He 
aggravated himself with questions, and aggravated himself 
the more, because at heart, he had ceased greatly to care 
what the answers might be. But now he came to think 
about it, it was so much of a surprise to find he had ever 
ceased to think about it that it was not easy to leave him- 
self alone. By and by, finding himself alone, he began 
to pace to and fro thinking. Azubah caught sight of him 
once or twice as he passed the half-open door- way of the 
room in which she sat, and to her mind it was as clear as 
day that her ill-advised speech had set him thinking of the 
advantages which had fallen away from him, and the un- 
deserved shames which had gathered round him in their 
place. The kindest and best of men, so regal in his gen- 
erosity, so unselfish, and to have suffered such indignities! 
So handsome — that went for something, though she never 
thought so — so young, so gifted, so unfortunate. It felt 
like heart-break to think of these things. 

If she could have read Tom^s thoug^its, she might have 
sympathized less keenly with him, but then that is often so. 


336 


HEAKTS: QUEEIST, Kl^^AVE^ AKD DEUCE. 


To know that he was trying to flog a dead love for another 
woman into life again would scarcely have pleased her. 

At the interval the members of the orchestra came 
swarming down-stairs^ and for a few minutes the room 
was extremely noisy. The thread of Tom^s thought was 
broken, and he forgot to piece it for the time being, and 
the great Hoffmann, being in a good humor with success, 
clapped him on the shoulder and cracked a joke, at which 
he laughed readily enough. Azubah saw this also, but 
nothing Tom did could fail to win her admiration. How 
brave it was of him to throw off his troubles so, and laugh 
them in the face. The poor girl had been too busy all her 
life to read romances, or she might have found out before 
this time what was the matter with herself. Nowadays no 
virgin need be ignorant of the meaning of the first move- 
ments of the virgin heart. Novelists and novelettists, poets 
and poetasters, are thick about her, and are ready to teach 
her all she should know and something that she should not. 
But Azubah lived outside their influence, and so she fell in 
love in Nature^s own fashion, which is perhaps the best, 
and had no self-conscious flutters and promptings, nor any 
bookish pruderies. She fell in love, or glided into love, as 
a good girl ought to do, unwittingly and unthinkingly. 
There is always a delicacy — or there should always b^e a 
delicacy — in a man^s mind about invading the privacy of 
maiden thought and feeling. The hands that draw apart 
the curtain are profane. 

AVhen Azubah had sung her last song and was prepared 
to leave the hall, she and Tom encountered once more, and 
said good-night. 

By the bye,^^ said he, we are due at Manchester to- 
morrow. By what train do you travel? We might go on 
together. There are a hundred things I want to speak 
about 

She was the little farm-girl still, and he still the lordly 
seigneur. 

She told him what he wished to know, and he arranged 
to meet her at the railway station. They traveled together 
and talked of old times and old people, and of the prospect 
of the dairy and her father^s health. The old woman who 
played the part of AzubalTs chaperon was not accustomed 
to travel, and could not sleep in strange beds. Her night 
having been broken, she fell fast asleep now and left them 


hearts: queeH:, khave^ ahd deuce. 


337 


to themselves, but there was nothing in their speech to 
which the world might not have listened. There was noth- 
ing in Tom OarrolFs thoughts that the whole world might 
not have known. The girl was certainly wonderfully im- 
proved, and he acknowledged with some surprise that she 
might have taken her place in any society, and have drawn 
forth none but approving comments. 

One thing which would have come sooner but that his 
life had been lived in such a whirl for the past three months 
began to impress itself upon his mind, and this was the oc- 
casion on which he had seen Azubah in the prison court- 
yard at Worcester. It pained him to think that curiosity 
had taken her to the Assize Court to witness the trial, and 
since he was not the sort of young man who fancies e\^ery 
second girl in love with him, no notion of a tender interest 
on her part entered his head. He could not question her 
about it, but he found her traveling companion alone that 
evening and spoke to her, and the old woman with no 
prompting led up to the theme herself. She was what is 
called in the country a notable woman, and she spoke her 
own mind to everybody, gentle and simple, with amazing 
freedom. 

It was the talk of the country, Mr. Thomas,^ ^ she 
said, as you and your poor dear father Tid. be a-niakin^ 
things up, and I^m sorry to see as it isn^t so. I look on it 
as a bit of come down for Moore ^s daughter to be play- 
actin^ about the country i^ this wise, and for gentlefolks 
born and bred it do not look proper, that I am sure.^^ 

Well, you know, Mrs. Askin,^^ said Tom, good-humor- 
edly, it^s a very agreeable method of earning a living. 

You hadnT ought . to earn a living sir,^'’ said the elder- 
ly dame, with warmth. Now that cousin of yours is 
found out, sir, as did you all that mischief, you ought to be 
at home again enjoyirfg of your own. Excuse me makin^ 
so bold, sir, but why donT you go home and speak to the 
old squire 

A dignified man might have resented this inquiry, but 
Tom had never set up to be dignified, and he answered 
simply that he had rather not talk of that matter just 
then. The notable woman^s tongue once being loosened, 
away she went. 

Oh, sir,^^ said she, ifc^s well beknown — ^beggin^ your 
pardon for saying of it — as you and your father^s a pair. 


338 


hearts: queeh, khaye, ahd deuce. 


and prida^s in the family. Not as ever you was proud to 
folks like me, for many a time me and Askin said to one 
another as there was nobody halfabler than Mister Thomas 
in our part of the country. But you gentlefolks is sort of 
hard and stand-off one with another, sir, and if a old 
ooman might speak her mind as was a tenant of your fa- 
therms for thirty ^ear, it^s your fault, sir, as much as hisn. 
Therems me and our Zubah^s talked it over pretty often, 
and we^re o^ one mind about that, though it ain^t often as 
we are. 

You have your little disagreements, thenP^m said Tom, 
laughing, though a little constrainedly. 

We^re like other folks, said the old lady, and she-ms 
headstrong like most young things. Self-will ainmt the 
word for her. When her was a-staying down with me three 
months ago afore I ever thought of coming down to this 
and goin’ round the country with a lot of foreigners and 
fiddle-scrapers — ^begging your pardon, sir — ^the way she 
would go into Worcester for to hear you tried was almost 
past bearinm with. And she was that ill afore she started. 
I says to her, I says, ^ Zubah, you ainmt fit to stir out of 
the house, ^ I says, and says she, ^ Aunt, I shall go, and it^s 
no use of your talkin^.m ^ Very well,m I says, ^ lookinm as 
you look now,m I says, ‘ I shouldnmt be surprised if you was 
to ketch your death. ^ She was that ill she could hardly 
walk, and a-tremblinm and faintinm like ammost all the way 
to the railway-station, and the same all the way to the court. 
And she no sooner gets to the inside of the buildinm_, after 
as bad a crush as ever I see in my life, then she faints 
stone-dead away. 

It was unadvised,mm said Tom, to whom all this was 
painful. Excuse me, Mrs. Askin, I must see to busi- 
ness. m m 

He had nothing to do, but he wanted to escape from 
her, so he bustled about and began to overturn a great pile 
of music, and to make notes which meant nothing. The 
old woman left him to his thoughts. They were a little 
complex, but they all drifted about Azubah. There was 
every reason why the girl should take a friendly interest in 
his fate. She had known him all her life, and he had been 
of use to her, and she, no doubt, had been grateful to him. 
When a young man begins to think much about a young 
woman, you need scarcely look for any logical sequence in 


HEARTS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKB BEtJCE. 


339 


liis thoughts. How very much improved she was. How 
very pretty she had grown. There was something in her 
way of looking at one. Curious that he should think about 
her so much. The artistic nature^ and the girl had an 
artistic nature, is always sensitive. Swooned on entering 
the court, did she, poor thing? Why, the trial lasted three 
hours, and he had found her still insensible when he left 
the dock on his acquittal. Then he remembered how she 
looked at him when she recovered. 

Somehow the old woman^s talk did not seem likely to be 
so painful to him as it had been awhile ago. By this time 
Azubah was talking to Mme. Fiorituri, for she had, in one 
way or another, picked up Italian enough to hold a con- 
versation, and Mrs. Askin was sitting at some distance 
from her. Tom sauntered toward the old lady with a sheet 
of music in his hand. 

I have found what I was looking for,^^ he said. The 
most honest of men can not always be expected to speak 
literal truths. I am sorry to have interrupted you, Mrs. 
Askin. You were just telling me that Miss Moore fainted. 
You could not have got into court at the beginning of the 
trial. 

Lord bless you, no, sir,^^ said the notable woman. 

We might ha^ stuck in the crowd till now if Askings 
nephew, which is a ^ superintendent ^ in the force hadnT 
come up to clear the folks away. He sees me of a sudden, 
when we^d been waiting there two hours at least, regular 
blocked up and not able to move one way or another all 
the time, and that hot it felt like a oven, and ^ For the 
Lord^s sake, Joseph,^ I says, ^ get us out of this. ^ ^ 'No/ 

says she, ^ let us get inside. I must get inside, ^ she says. 
So says he, ^ This way,^ and he takes us by a by-way, and 
just as we gets into the court we saw you, sir, and the jury- 
man says ‘ Hot guilty,^ and the crowd begins to cheer. 
There was a gentleman there, sir, which perhaps you may 
remember. His name was Chandler, and he kep^ a shop 
in the town in the linen-drapery line, and I asked him, 

^ Who^s not guilty, for the Lord^s sake?^ I says, ^ Is it 
Mr. Thomas?'’ ^ It is,^ he says, and ‘ look at your niece. 
And there was Azubah swooned dead away.^^ 

Mr. Carroll, said a voice from the foot of the or- 
chestra-stairs. Tom turned. Waiting for you, sir.'’'’ 

Tom caught up his violin and made for the orchestra. 


840 


HEAETS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKE DEUCE. 


The noise of applause went through him like an inspiring 
wind as he stepped upon the platform^ and left him no 
thought but that of his art and the business of the moment. 
Hoffm.ann waved his hand, his bow gripped the strings, 
and he forgot everything but music. 

An hour later he was in his own room, at his hotel, smok- 
ing a last pipe before turning into bed. What a tender- 
hearted, sensitive little thing she was, he thought. How 
lady-like and lovely she had grown. Altogether, how she 
had improved. 


CHAPTEE XXXIII. 

Theee is a sort of self-conscious young man who in 
these circumstances would have been able to guess the 
truth. Perhaps the self-conscious young man is far (in 
the long run) from having an advantage over the young 
man who is not self-conscious. He can read unmistakable 
signs rightly, but he can also read mistakable signs wrong- 
ly, and that is sometimes uncomfortable for him. Tom 
read nothing. 

The great Hoffmann ^s company traveled to all the great 
provincial cities, and won golden opinions from all sorts of 
peoj)le. M. Strapinski played Tomb’s sonnets for the piano- 
forte, the carefully selected and magnificently trained or- 
chestra performed his symphony, Mme. Fiorituri sung his 
aria, and Miss Moore his last ballad, and he himself played 
his last nocturne. Altogether there was a good deal of 
Tom Carroll in the great Hofimann^s programme, and the 
public applauded him. The critics called him this gen- 
■ uinely English musician the publishers began to find his 
music in demand, and there was a talk about reviving 
‘‘ Godiva,^^ at one of the London theaters. He bore suc- 
cess modestly, made an income more than equal to his 
wants, and was fairly happy. People received him (when 
he had leisure to be received at all) with the consideration 
due to a member of a good old county family, and he was 
allowed to feel that he was any man^s equal still. 

The enterprising Hofimann was not only a musician with 
a name to conjure money from the public pocket, but an 
admirable man of business and first-rate showman. He 
made arrangements, therefore — knowing when generosity 
paid him — to give his troupe a holiday here and there, and 


h^:arts: queek^ kkaye, a kb deuce. 


341 


he even took the trouble before he finally fixed his engage- 
ments to consult the soloists and the members of his orches- 
tra as to the places and times at which they would like the 
breaks in the Weeks’s work to come in. Most of them did 
not care at all, and when any man did care his voice for 
the most part settled the matter. Apart from these holi- 
days Hoffmann worked his army fiercely, and himself 
worked hardest of all. 

The spare days had promised to hang somewhat heavily 
on Tomb's hands, but the burden of doing nothing was 
lightened now that he had a frivolous old woman, and a 
serious young one, to share it with him. The elder had a 
convenient knack of going to sleep in the day-time, a thing 
she attributed to her sleepless nights, forgetful of the fact 
that an effect does not create a cause. Tom instructed 
Azubah in counterpoint whilst the old lady was awake, 
and when she slept he went on with his lessons. Wonder- 
ful how interesting — to an enthusiastic musician — the study 
of counterpoint may be, when the pupil is a girl whose love- 
liness is a continual surprise, and whose ways are at once 
frank and shy. There are as many ways of falling in love 
as there are men and women in the world. To be always 
closely associated wth a pretty girl who thinks you the 
handsomest, the wisest, and the best young man in the 
world, and the most unjustly used, who with perfect deli- 
cacy and subtlety lets you understand as much without 
ever saying a word about it, and obviously does not intend 
that you should guess her opinions and sentiments — do you 
think, that in this sort of circumstances you would be 
pleased with the young woman? If the young woman 
were really — when you came to look at her — surprisingly 
pretty, and a little sad for some reason or no reason, and a 
little in want of help and protection, and sympathy, and 
society, and all that — do you think you might begin to feel 
impelled toward her in an odd sort of way? 

The way of a man with a maid. 

Tom was perfectly certain that he was bound body and 
soul to his first and only love, though he was also perfectly 
certain that he could never go and claim her. These con- 
tradictory sentiments could not long exist together, and 
one had to destroy the other. Conviction^ s fire and 
doubt ^s cold water made a rare steam between them for 
awhile, and then in due course of time, conviction^s fire 


342 hearts: queek, kkave^ ahd deuce. 

went out. He had no right to think himself bound to 
Mary Lording unless she still thought herself bound to 
him. Since Lording had last called upon him they had held 
no intercourse, and that was long ago. ‘ ‘ l\e stuck to you 
all the time, and I^'d stick to you now if youd let me. But 
since you won^fc, I^m going. When you come to your 
senses I shall be glad to hear from you.*^^ He remembered 
Lording^ s parting words, and he knew that without active 
cause of quarrel between them they had parted. It had 
been in Mary^s power to write to him and make things 
smooth again, but she had never done it. He had never 
blamed her for her silence even when his affection for her 
was keenest and his heart was sorest, and now, though he 
did not like to confess it to himself, he was not at all anx- 
ious that she should write in the strain he had once longed 
to have. He had been really, honestly, loyally in love. 
He himself knew perfectly well that if his love had been 
crowned by possession he would have gone on loving loyally 
and tenderly until death divided him from his wife. But 
then so many things had come between, and events so mov- 
ing and absorbing had crowded on one another so 
swiftly, that she had been pressed from his mind. 

If men were ruled by inexorable logic the world would 
be so altered that nobody now alive would know it. In- 
consistency is the most consistent of human characteristics 
and the most abiding. The heart of man wanders, and 
even women, who love more personally, can love twice in 
a life-time — happily for us and for themselves. A natural- 
minded young man can find it in his heart to love almost 
any lovable young woman who happens to be thrown much 
in his way and to make an appeal to him, unless his heart 
is filled already. Now, in this case, Azubah came at the 
most dangerous time, for his heart was just emptied, and 
was feeling empty. 

If he had guessed the truth he might have avoided her, 
for fallen as his fortunes were, he would never of purpose 
aforethought have deliberately married a milkman^ s daugh- 
ter. In all his instincts, hereditary and acquired, he was 
one of the dominant class, and he was a gentleman to the 
end of his days, though he were three times a fiddler, and 
even had he fiddled for his bread in the streets. But he 
only saw a pair of very beautiful and speaking brown e3"es 
and a gentle, pretty face and a charming figure; and knew 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


343 


only that there was a charming soul behind all these out- 
ward signs. He knew that the girl was sympathetic, 
clever, and possessed by a passionate love of the art which 
had for years inthralled himself. He knew that he was 
absolutely at ease with her, and if he had asked himself he 
would have known that nobody thought so well of him as 
she did. It was delightful to give lessons to so apt and am- 
bitious a pupil, and it was pleasant to stand as well in nis 
own eyes as she somehow made him. 

The girl, on her part, began to be wiser than the man. 
She knew by this time the meaning of her own symptoms, 
and was brought to confess to herself that she was in love 
with her old patron and helper. When a girl makes that 
sort of confession to herself she is as much ashamed, or 
nearly, as though the whole of her world had found her 
out in some act of incredible wickedness. She blushed and 
hid her face in her hands in the solitude of her own cham- 
ber when she first thought of it, and many a time after- 
ward. She would sit and dream with her eyes wide open, 
and Tom Carroll and she would walk together in vague 
places until he would bow that magnificent head and turn 
the light of those wonderful eyes upon her, and his arm 
would go round her waist and her he^ fall upon his shoul- 
der, and she would awake in a paroxysm of sweet shame 
from that entrancing fancy. 

They were at Bristol when one of their periodical resting 
times came about, and a sort of picnic was planned for 
Ilfracombe. Hoffmann made the affair his own, and 
ordered a luncheon at the chief hotel. The weather was 
bright and balmy, and Mrs. Askin went to sleep in the 
course of the passage across the Channel, though she had 
made all convenient arrangements for being ill. Tom and 
Azubah were together during the brief steam-boat Journey, 
and the girl was in a state of fiuttering expectancy, as 
though something strange and unheard-of were certain to 
happen. They landed, and wandered about the place 
together as if that were quite natural and in the proper 
order of things. Other people, who knew more about Tom 
Carroll than he had yet found out about himself, tacitly 
agreed to let him alone. The notable woman'’ s free tongue 
had let everybody know the story as far as she herself knew 
it, and if anybody had told her, in answer, that the son of 
her late husband'’ s landlord and the rightful heir to the 


344 HEAKTS: QUEEiq^, KKAVE, AND DEUCE. 

Trench House estates were falling in love with her niece, 
she would have laughed. She recognized the distance be- 
tween them. That Azubah should fall in love with him 
would have been too absurd to her mind. If you had 
asked her, plump and plain, whether she thought Tom 
- Carroll or the Prince of Wales the loftier, she would, of 
course, have pitched upon the Prince, but, unconsciously 
and habitually, she thought the Carrolls, of Trench House, 
the greatest people in the world. Azubah had certainly 
grown wonderfully fine ladyfied in the last year or two, 
insomuch that the old woman was a little afraid of her in 
her inmost heart; but the girl knew her place for all that, 
and had been bred almost in the shadow of the red-brick 
mansion at Overhill. In Mrs. Askings experience love was 
not the leveler he is in romantic ballads. Gentlefolks mar- 
ried gentlefolks. Bankrupt farmers^ daughters might 
think themselves well ofi to catch a decent young trades- 
man. Azubah would probably disgrace herself by an alli- 
ance with a fiddler, but Tom, though he got his living by 
fiddling, was a sacred amateur in her eyes. 

The two young people were together all day, and strolled 
by the water-side together. It might be interesting to 
know what they found to talk about? Well, for the 
greater jDart of their time they talked about harmony and 
counterpoint and thorough bass. Tom, once astride his 
hobby with his feet well in the stirrups was hard to throw, 
and Azubah was as ready to admire him on hobby-back as 
she would have been elsewhere. It might have been droll, 
had there been any one to listen, to have heard this hand- 
some young man enthusiastically orating to this charming 
girl about the exquisite employment of the oboe in 
Strapinski^s last sonata or the noble use of the drum in 
Hoffmann^ s orchestrated version of somebody else^s theme. 
His face would glow, his eyes would flash, and he would 
hum little passages with gestures almost as vivid as his 
friend Baretti^s, and improvised ta ra ra, la ra ra,"’"’ nod- 
ding his head to the tune. To her, it was an almost un- 
mixed happiness to walk and talk with him in this unre- 
stricted freedom, though now and then reason lifted its 
head and made a protest against the folly of her dreams. 

They went strolling along gayly. Tom was well-mount- 
ed and his hobby was as steady to ride as ever. There are 
men who could find other and more appropriate themes 


HEAKTS: QUEEN, KKAYE, AND DEUCE. 345 

than thorough bass with such a face and such a pair of 
eyes beside them, and in a young man Tom^s devotion to 
music was a little absurd at such an hour. Art is all very 
well in its way, but it does not fill the whole of life. Per- 
haps he began to be ttware of that, for he dismounted from 
his hobby on a sudden and became preternaturally quiet. 
He walked on by Azubah^s side, and neither of them no- 
ticed the way very much or thought about the time. 

It^s an odd sort of chance, said Tom at last, looking 
round on his companion, ‘‘ that throws us together again 
in this way.^^ 

Yes,'''’ she said, an odd chance."^ 

I don^t know how it is,^" said Tom, but I have been 
thinking a good deal lately of my childhood. We were 
playmates one day, do you remember?"^ 

Ho,"" she said with some surprise, I can"t recall it."" 

He told her drolly of the day on which he had called at 
the farm and had found her with a small village boy in 
string harness. For some forgotten reason the steed re- 
belled against the driver, threw ofi the harness, and went 
in dudgeon. Then the driver had besought or commanded 
the bystander to be harnessed, and Tom had consented, 
and had been driven shamefacedly all about the farm-house 
and the fold-yard until, as Fate would have it, Mr. Carroll 
rode by, and stared with frozen majesty at the spectacle. 

I don"t think,"" said Tom, with a laugh, that he ever 
quite recovered from it. I was ten years of age at the 
time, and you, I think, were three. My father saw a fatal 
want of dignity about me from that hour."" 

Azubah took this ridiculous infant reminiscence almost 
seriously, and Tom felt that any little jest that lay in the 
remembrance had fallen fiat. 

It seems only the other day,"" he began again, after a 
pause, that you were a baby. And now you" re a public 
personage with a great reputation."" 

Somehow that statement seemed to fall fiat also, and her 
only response was an uncertain little laugh. She had all 
manner of things to think of. The reminiscence, slight 
and childish as it was, was a reminder of the distance that 
had always existed between them. She was thinking, too, 
how long it would have taken her to climb to the place she 
stood in without his help, and how ill he could afford the 
help when he gave it. It was impossible to avoid the 


346 


HEA^lTS: QUEEK^ K^STAYE, AKB DEUCE. 


question whether he had cared for her in more than a com- 
mon way since he had aided her at such a time. She was 
yearning over him with all her heart, and, as it seemed, 
with every fiber of her frame, and he knew nothing of it, 
and would never know. 

Tom was quick to discern the change in her manner, but 
was unable to read it. It chilled him and froze the current 
of his gay talk. They turned and retraced their steps in 
silence, and every now and then he stole a look at her. It 
was not in him by nature to be furtive in any of his ways, 
but he did not look at her boldly and openly, feeling, as he 
did, that she was already embarrassed for some reason, and 
not desiring to embarrass her more. What had he said 
that could at all disturb her? 

He was tall and broad, and she looked very slight beside 
him. She knew by some mesmeric infiuence that he was 
looking at her, and do what she would she could not keep 
the blushes from her cheek. Then she blushed for blush- 
ing, and when he next stole a look at her, though her eyes 
were downcast she seemed to know it, and her face was all 
celestial rosy red. He began to guess, and he began to 
feel an odd tremor at the heart. Pretty? She was sweetly 
pretty. How delicately the soft, blushing cheek was round- 
ed. Her ear was like a clear, rosy shell. The fine, long 
lashes lay upon her cheek with a provoking beauty of their 
own, and surely she had the prettiest lips and chin in the 
world. 

It is so difficult for words to set forth this kind of thing. 
He was not taking an inventory of her beauties, but they 
stole on him one by one with a kind of honeyed surprise, 
and he thought she cared for him a little more than com- 
mon. An innocent, loyal, brave, and gentle nature he 
knew she had. If she loved him? He thrilled and fiushed 
at that with a sudden touch of triumph and delight. If he 
were only an insolent and self-satisfied ass, and she did 
nothing of the sort? He grew curiously chilly. 

They walked back in unbroken silence, and found that 
they had been so long away that the boat was ready to 
start, and everybody else belonging to their party was 
aboard. The sun was down and the first shade of evening 
was in the air. The moon rose, and Azubah, once more 
under the shelter of her aunt^s wing, sat down and leaned 
her head upon the vessePs rail, and watched the gathering 


HEAETS: QUEEK:, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 


347 


film of light in the skies as the nearer planet grew brighter 
and the distant stars less bright. She knew without turn- 
ing her head that Tom Carroll was near at hand engaged 
in the same sort of exercise. The notable woman em- 
ployed her own happy faculty and got to sleep, and Tom 
was somehow beside the girl again. 

A lovely night, said Tom, softly. 

A lovely night, she answered, like a pretty echo. 

Don'^t you find it a little chilly sitting here he asked. 

Shall we walk along the deck?^^ 

She arose without speaking, and Tom proffered his arm. 
She took it, and they walked the deck together. It was 
ridiculous, but he had nothing to say, and, beat about in 
his mind as he would, he could find nothing that seemed 
worth saying. Her hand rested on his arm like a warm 
snow-flake, and passing his right hand across he took hold 
of it and drew it further. He could feel that it shook a 
little, and its tremor communicated itself to him. He 
was making love to the girl he knew, and perhaps he had 
been doing it longer than he had known. What right 
had he? 

They walked to and fro, and the hand still trembled near 
his heart. Most of the people were below, and the few on 
deck were clustered near the wheel watching the great line 
of moonlight in the water, or chatting gayly in two or 
three different languages amongst themselves. The bows 
of the boat rose high, and when the two walked forward 
Tom could see that the seat immediately below the top- 
gallant forecastle was in deep shadow. Anybody sitting 
there would be invisible from amidships. He turned this 
fact over in his mind with a curious flutter in his breast, 
answering all the while to that flutter of the little hand 
upon his arm. Two or three minutes after he had first 
made observations of this shadow he paused in it and Azu- 
bah paused with him. 

Shall we sit down here?^^ he asked. 

She sat down without verbal answer, removing her hand 
as she did so, and he sat down beside her. He had noth- 
ing to say. There was nothing in his mind worth saying. 
But in a while his arm was about AzubalTs waist, and she 
was not in the least attempting to repulse him. His arm 
infolded her, and her whole figure swayed to his touch, 
and her head fell upon his shoulder. He took her right 


348 HEAKTS: QUEEI^^ KNAYE^ AKD DEUCE. 

hand in his left and he bent down and kissed her. Then 
he made a discovery and hailed it quaintly. 

I am in love/*’ he said to himself, ‘‘ and I never know 
what it was like before 

It is not difficult to fall in love temporarily with a pretty 
girl when you sit alone with her, shadowed from moon- 
light, with an arm about her waist, but Tom knew that his 
hour was come. He was not in love for a minute or a day. 
It was all over with him, and he surrendered, with that 
pride and rapture peculiar to his race and sex in like cir- 
cumstances. To the girl it was or seemed as pure a mira- 
cle as ever came to pass, but she was content with it. 
How they talked (and Tom at least found his tongue in a 
minute or two) is no aft'air of yours or mine. It was all 
settled between them before the boat reached the quay, 
though the journey seemed disappointingly short, and when 
Mrs. Askin awoke at the bustle about her, Tom approached 
her resolutely, and led her ashore. 

Mrs. Askin,^^ he said, when they had bade Good- 
night to the rest of their party, I have news for you. 
Azubah and I are going to be married. 

The old lady gasped, and would have sat down in the 
road- way if Tom had not already given her his arm. 

The Lord help you, sir, she said, but the squire 
will never overlook it, and youdl be no better than a fid- 
dler to the end of your days.""^ 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

Whilst Tom was making the most of this new happi- 
ness of his, Baretti was painting away in London in an 
almost melodramatic gloom of spirit. He knew nothing 
of Tonies utter faitlilessness to his old love, and he still 
held himself bound by all the old ties of friendship, grati- 
tude, and honor which had hitherto so strongly held him. 

Most people were out of town, but Baretti stayed behind 
and worked. Lording and Mary were in Switzerland, and 
the painter'’ s heart if not his body was with them. He 
would tear himself out of languor and despondency, and 
would work at his easel like a slave during the hours of 
light the long days of late summer afforded, but at night 
he would droop and would sit alone with his unlighted 


hearts: queeh, khave^ ahd deuce. 


349 


pipe between his teeth, surveying a sorrowful and lonely 
future. There is no doubt he suffered more than he need 
have done, but that is true of most people. Half the 
troubles of the world are wantonly created or wantonly 
fomented, and when a young man is hopelessly in love he 
likes to suffer. 

Yet everything was real enough to Baretti, and his own 
passionate temperament made his tongue-tied love a heavy 
burden to him. If he had been free to speak and then to 
go away somewhere, anywhere! But to speak would have 
been to cover himself with dishonor and to sacrifice every- 
thing for which, in these late years, he had so intensely 
struggled. No, no, no. Everything he had and was, was 
CarrolFs. It was Carroll who had saved him, Carroll who 
had made him, Carroll to whom he owed all things. Not 
a whisper to dishonor the purity and completeness of his 
love for his preserver should ever pass his lips. 

The devil tempted him, of course. Tom and Lording 
were far apart, and likely enough to be permanently divid- 
ed. Tom was out in the cold, and Baretti was in the 
inmost circle of art and fashion, and raking in money hand 
over hand. The poor fiddler^ s last chance of marrying the 
heiress was gone — the wealthy painter might speak and 
might have a chance with her. There was no great bar- 
rier of descent between them; Mary was simply a lady, and 
Baretti had a right to claim to be called a gentleman. 

No man lives entirely in the mill- wheel-round of one 
emotion, and no emotion is always equal in its forces. 
There were a thousand other things to think of in the 
world. But, after all; this was the dominant of Baretti^'s 
life, and was so present with him as to make other hopes, 
wishes, and concerns feeble beside it. Sometimes it was 
terrible to suffer, sometimes it was sweet to suffer, as 
lovers have a knack of ruling things. Altogether it would 
not be easy to exaggerate the virtue which held him so 
firmly to his gratitude, and so far away from his love. It 
has been said already that gratitude was a passion with 
him, but the passions are not alike in strength, and when 
gratitude wrestles against love, a dwarf is pitted against a 
giant. 

The poor painter^ s greatest treasure, and solace, and 
torment was that first sketch he had made for Mary Lord- 
high’s portrait. It drew him with a singular fascination in 


350 HEAETS: QUEEN, KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 

this time of loneliness, and he often took it from its hid- 
ing-place and smoked his pipe before it in a mood of 
adoration, sometimes passionate, and sometimes tender. 
No saint ever had such yearnings toward his favorite 
shrine. 

The fountain sparkled in the sunlight, and the garden 
gleamed behind the beautiful figure. The branches moved 
about her, and the summer breeze had caught that one 
loose wave of hair which lay across her forehead. Her eyes 
smiled welcome still, and her feet were ready to step from 
the canvas. Any man who has been in love can guess 
what all this was to him, with what desires it filled him, 
with what despairs it wrung him. 

He sat one evening looking at this portrait until the 
shadows began to gather pretty thickly and he could see it 
no longer. Then he arose and drew the curtains, and lit 
his lamps, and sat down again to his feast of grief and pas- 
sion. Once he arose and kissed the face that smiled so 
upon him — a poor satisfaction as any lover may guess. 
But after that he began to pace the room in a new trouble. 

This,^^ he said, as he went up and down, is disloyal 
to the very heart of things. What right have I to think 
of her at all? I must tear her from my heart altogether. 
I must burn her portrait. I have no right to keep it. One 
of these days I shall lose all self-possession, afid all I have 
sulfered will be wasted. I must burn it!^-^ 

Burn it? It felt like burning his own heart — and burn- 
ing the actual woman he loved along with it. The very 
smile the pictured face wore seemed to beseech him. He 
walked in great agitation for a time, pausing now and then 
to look at the smiling face. 

You must go/’ he said, at length, speaking under his 
breath. We must part. You make me mad with long- 
ing, and fill me with traitorous thoughts. You must go. 
We must part. 

He would wrap her in cerements of lead, and let her fall 
into the river where she could lie deep, and decay slowly, 
out of sight, as dead things should do. She would be de^ 
then to him, and his passion was so strong that even this 
fanciful idea took such a hold of him, that he felt like a 
murderer in the contemplation of it. He marched up and 
down the room, but his thoughts were away in a peaceful 
reach of the Thames he knew^ and over and over and over 


HEA'ETS: QUEEK, KKAVE, AKD EEUCE. 


351 


again he committed his treasure to its grave. He saw the 
water divide, and he watched the ripples as they rounded 
and died away. 

It was a sore struggle altogether, and only a lover could 
understand the man, or the battle that raged within liim. 
But at last he made up his mind. It was altogether un- 
wholesome for the soul to submit to the intoxication his 
thoughts before tliis picture brought him. Even if Mary 
were lost to Carroll forever— even if that best and most 
generous and lovable of men must lose her and must bear 
the unspeakable pang of thinking of her as in another 
many’s embraces, it could never be Baretti^s happiness that 
should bring such misery to his friend. All this was fiery, 
and high-flown, and romantic somewhat beyond the com- 
mon run, but then it was in the many’s nature, and to him 
it was all as real as his half-crowns are to a money-grubber, 
his patent to an inventor, his acres to a land-owner, your 
grief to you. 

A good share of a man^s duties lies in the attempt to com- 
pel himself to feel that something is dearer than the dear- 
est. With Baretti, as with countless thousands of men be- 
fore him, the choice lay between love and honor. Love 
was infinitely dearest, and therein lay a confession from 
which his soul revolted. He must, he would make honor 
yet dearer. How easy to let honor go, if only for a day or 
two, how hard to lose love for a moment, how hard even to 
think of it. You can forgive the southern nature its little 
flashes of melodrama, its exultation in its own pain, its 
wanton blowing of the flames. When humbug grows melo- 
dramatic you know its hollow rant and stagey strides, 
mouthing periods. You can laugh at all that with an ex- 
cellent appetite for humor. But you forgive a little of 
what looks like play-acting to a man whose heart is in 
agony, who stands torn between love and honor, and figlits 
away from love to cast in his lot with her cold enemy. 

It took Baretti the whole of that night to win, but he 
won at last, and he knew that he had conquered. He took 
the picture from its place and set it in his arm-chair, with 
a lamp on either side of it, and he knelt down before it and 
said good-bye. He kissed the face with tears of last re- 
nunciation and farewell, and he laid the picture on the 
cushioned seat and laid his head upon it, and his arms 
around it. 


352 HEAETS: QUEEl^, KKAYE, AKD DEUCE. 

It was bright morning outside by this time^ but he knew 
nothing of that. There was some peace in his heart 
already, partly because nobody can' go on suffering forever, 
and pain brings relief by sheer fatigue at last, and partly 
because he knew that he had won the greatest fight of his 
life. No man but himself would ever know it, and he had 
only fought for a fancy after all, yet what is life but 
thought? He had conquered, and in no thought of his 
heart could he ever be false to Carroll any more. But he 
was tired, tired, and as he knelt there over the picture with 
his tumbled black curls resting on it he fell asleep. 

The great Hoffmann had explored Manchester, Birming- 
ham, Glasgow, Liverpool, Edinburgh, all the giant places 
that lie outside London, and the smaller cities were now 
being awakened by the prospect of his coming. After 
Bristol, Gloucester lay next upon his programme, and this 
began to bring Tom near home again. In Worcester he 
had flatly refused to appear for reasons which are likely to 
be obvious. 

When he had parted from Azubah on that fateful night, 
he had gone straight home to his hotel and had resigned 
himself to his own thoughts. They were somewhat wild and 
incoherent to begin with, and he was not at first so 23er- 
fectly sure that he was happy as he felt he ought to have 
been. He was sufficiently divided from his father already, 
but this new step of his had widened the gap beyond clos- 
ure, There was something to take the gilt off his joy and 
triumph in that reflection. Then Lording would know of 
it, and Mary would know of it, and all his world would 
hear it. Well, it was done, and as he thought of the 
matter his heart warmed again in due time, and he was 
ready to face anything and everything. 

It came quite suddenly into his mind that he had ample 
time to run up by the night mail and see Azubah^ s father. 
He would rather tell him of this by word of mouth than by 
letter, and he would like to take Baretti into his confidence 
too. Without giving himself time to grow cool on this 
fancy, he scrawled a hasty line to Azubah, and having 
packed his portmanteau and filled his cigar-case, he set out 
by cab for the railway station, and embarked upon his 
journey. He succeeded in getting a carriage to himself, 
tucked himself comfortably in his rug, set his portmanteau 
beneath his head for a pillow, and fell off' to sleep quite 


HEABTS: QUEEK^ KNAVE, AND DEUCE. 353 

joyously. From some cause or other the train was delayed, 
and he reached London more than an hour beyond his 
time. He was not sorry for this, since he had already ar- 
rived at a rather unholy sort of hour. He drank a cup of 
coffee at a coffee-house near the station, and then, port- 
manteau in hand, set out for his old residence in Montague 
Gardens. When he arrived the maid was cleaning the 
steps, and he gave her a beaming good-morning. She 
arose with a little scream of surprise, and stood wiping her 
hands on her apron and courfcesying before him with a face 
of unmistakable welcome. 

Mr. Baretti is in town, I suppose said Tom. 

Oh! yes, sir,^^ said the maid; but I donH suppose 
youTl find him up yet. 

Never mind,^^ returned Tom; ITl wait in the studio 
until he awakes. 

The maid opened the door and stood by for him to pass. 
He ascended the stairs with great quiet, and for a moment 
paused before the door which led to his own old chambers 
with a passing wonder as to what manner of man lived in 
there now. Then he went upward on tiptoe toward Ba- 
retti^s rooms, and, turning the handle of the studio door 
almost stealthily, he entered. There were two lamps burn- 
ing dimly and set on chairs, and, though it was broad day- 
light outside, everything was dusky and undefined within 
the room. He walked forward and turned up the wick of 
one of the lamps, and, to his sudden terror and surprise, 
saw Baretti, half -kneeling, half -lying at the arm-chair be- 
tween them. It seemed to Tom^s eyes as if the painter had 
fallen there in a swoon. The first thiug he did was to sweej) 
aside the curtains, so that the light rushed in and left each 
lamp a sulky blot against the morning. 

Baretti,^ ^ he cried, returning to the prostrate figure 
and seizing it by the shoulder. ^‘Baretti! what is the 
matter?^ ^ 

The painter awoke and staggered half blindly to his feet. 
Tom caught sight of the picture. 

You here, Carroll. What is the matter?^^ 

Then Baretti caught sight of the picture also, and re- 
membered all, but being only half awakened, snatched at 
it and took it to his breast to hide it. Not a second later 
he saw what he had done. His resolve had gone for noth- 
ing and he had betrayed himself. 


354 


hearts: queeh, kkaye^ ahh deuce. 


Baretti/^ said Tom, g^Rtly. Baretti.^^ There was 
a world of meaning in his voice to the painter ^s hearing. 
It sounded like the utterance of judgment on disloyalty. 
He had not a word to say. He had betrayed himself and 
Carroll could guess everything. Let me look/’ said 
Tom, laying a hand upon the picture. Baretti surrendered 
it without resistance, and stood before him, drooping his 
head like a man detected in a crime. You never told me 
of this.'^ 

Nobody but a fool could have misread the case, and 
Tom, without pausing to ask himself a question, knew it 
all. Baretti^s looks and attitude told everything. 

You always cared for her?^^ said Tom. From the 
beginning?^^ He recalled things that had happened two or 
three years ago as if they had been affairs of yesterday. 
Baretti offered no answer, still reading in his friend^ s voice 
the voice of judgment. You never spoke to me oi; her.""^ 

Never, said Baretti. “ Believe what you will of me 
but that.^^ He spoke this with bent head, and an attitude 
altogether despairing, but suddenly he flashed upright in 
his own vehement way, and stood with clasped hands be- 
fore his face — Believe anything but that. 

God bless you, old fellow, cried Tom, throwing the 
picture away, and seizing the outstretched hands. Tell 
me the truth. Tell me everything. Do you — care for 
her?^^ Baretti hung his head anew, and said nothing. 

Be candid with me,^^ said Tom. I will be candid with 
you to begin with. I have news for you. I am engaged 
to be married.^'’ 

Baretti stopped him before he could speak another word. 

I have cleared my heart of every weakness. I can be 
happy to see you happy. 

My dear, dear old fellow,^'’ cried Tom, wringing the 
painter^s hands. Let us play at no cross purposes. You 
are in love with Miss Lording. Tell me the truth. ^ Baretti 
hung his head again and said nothing. And you have 
hidden it for my sake? Well — ^go and woo and win her, 
man, and wear her worthily. 

Baretti stared at him like a madman. 

My dear fellow,^ ^ cried Tom, I am engaged to be 
married, as I told you. I haveiiH thought of Miss Lording 
for a year and a half past. 

Baretti glared at him and then fairly blazed: 


hearts: queek^ khave^ ahd deuce. 


355 


You threw her away?^"^ 

^^ Congratulate me, Baretti/^ said Tom, half hysterical- 
ly, for his curious interview had shaken him. I am 
going to be married early in September. I came up to 
town/^ he hurried on, not daring to pause, on purpose 
to tell you. You remember Miss Moore; you have no 
idea — ^ 

He stopped short there suddenly. Even to a friend like 
Baretti he could not say the things that were sacrilegious to 
himself. How she had improved? How she had altered 
for the better? He was in love with her, and he knew 
perfectly well (as your true lover always does) that she was 
worth ten thousand of him. And yet he had been on the 
edge of such a blasphemy of her perfections. 

Life-long habit against new-grown passion. But even if 
he had not been her lover, the gentleman^s instinct would 
have pulled him up. 

You are engaged to Miss Moore?^^ said Baretti, like a 
man in a dream. 

I am engaged to Miss Moore,^^ said Tom, and we are 
to be married in September. 

Carroll,'^'' cried Baretti, I have wasted more repent- 
ance than ever was wasted before. You shall know, my 
friend, you shall know. I thought you loved her. And I 
knelt last night before her picture and said good-bye to her, 
and put her away out of my heart. 

You care for her?^'^said Tom again. I have been 
like a blind man, Baretti. You have cared for her all 
along. 

loved her, said Baretti, looking straight in his 
friend ^s eyes, from the first hour I ever saw her. That is 
why I ran away to Naples. 

‘‘No man ever wished a friend good fortune with a bet- 
ter heart, said Tom, shaking Barettfs hands once more. 

The painter for the first time returned the pressure, and 
suddenly turning away hurried into his bedroom. Tom 
being thus left alone, forbore to follow, but sat down, and 
half mechanically lit a cigar. When he had thrown away 
the picture it had fallen face downward on the seat of the 
arm-chair, and he stretched forth a hand and set it up so 
that he could see it. Any but a blind man would have had 
to confess that the face was lovely, but he looked at it with 
a sort of wonder that he had ever loved it, It lacked the 


356 HEAKTS: QUEEN:, KNAYE^ AND DEUCE. 

something he knew now. There was not a fault in it. It 
was not only beautiful^ but it looked good, and true, and 
honest, and amiable. It spoke all womanly virtues and 
sweetness, and he had loved the woman it presented to him 
once, and loved her loyally. And yet he knew a sweeter 
face, not so beautiful and infinitely more beautiful, and he 
was contented enough with his own prospects. There is 
just a likelihood that he had seen love in the one face, and 
had not seen it in the other Mary^s look had never flat- 
tered that lofty and delicate egotism which is, after all, a 
part of a man^s love, though he rarely guesses it. In 
ninety cases out of a hundred it is the woman^s worship 
that wins a lasting love, and in the remaining ten her cool 
disdain. 

But it is a bold game to analyze where analysis must 
necessarily give olfense, and be the more oftensive in pro- 
portion to its truthfulness. I might make confession, but 
my friends may not be in the humor. 

Tom smoked for an hour well contented, and at the end 
of that time Baretti, who had moved with such sly silence 
that his friend had not heard a sound, emerged from his 
bedroom, dragging a big portmanteau after him. He was 
dressed as if for a journey, and he hung his head in a 
mingled tremor of joy and shamefacedness. 

Why, what is this?'^ said Tom, with a semblance of 
gayety. 

I am going to Switzerland,^^ said Baretti. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

When the news came to Thomas Carroll the elder that 
Nephew Mark was being hunted as a perjurer and that son 
Thomas had been set free and pronounced blameless, it 
was naturally a shock to him. Eor once in his life (he had 
to confess it to himself) he had been mistaken. The im- 
possible had happened, and after that one might be ready 
to believe in almost anything. 

He, Thomas Carroll, of Trenph House, Overhill, had 
made a mistake, and after his recognition of that fact the 
universe might well seem topsy-turvy. He did not hold 
his head so well up as he had used to do, and he began to 
age with astonishing rapidity. His old public haunts knew 


HEAETS: QUEEK^ KKAVE, AKD DEUCE. 


357 


him no more; he had spoken his last pompous judgment 
from the bench^ attended his last licensing meeting, taken 
the chair at the last agricultural dinner. He was old, he 
Avas friendless, he was lonely, and he had been horribly ill- 
used. If Tom had come to him to beg his pardon and to 
promise an atonement for the future he could almost have 
found it in his heart to forgive him and to take him back 
again. 

The clergyman of the parish called and tried to make 
peace beween Mr. Carroll and Tom, and made so little by 
his movement that he vowed never to enter the house 
again. 

You are all very well in your way, no doubt, sir,^^ said 
Mr. Carroll, and you perform to my satisfaction the 
duties of the position to which I appointed you; but in 
presuming to advise me, sir, you forget yourself. 

A clergyman advising Lording, for instance, would have 
seemed a natural spectacle enough — the representative of 
the Church had a constitutional right to advise — but to 
preach to him? His gall had not been so stirred for many 
a day. 

Yet, thinking things over, he Avas more and more in- 
clined to hope that Tom would come and beg his pardon 
and renounce his present mode of life and become a gentle- 
man once more. Of course the lad had been to blame, but 
he had suffered beyond his deserts; and the old gentleman 
Avas so far softened that he was prepared to be flattered and 
appealed to and made much of. He felt wonderfully mag- 
nanimous Avhen the thought of his own readiness to accejDt 
Tom^s apology and repentance, and he felt oftentimes ex- 
tremely angry that Tom did not take advantage of his 
generosity. 

The one thing which made Tom at all noticeable to the 
elder Carroll Avas the fact that he bore his oAvn charmed 
name. He knew nothing of his growing musical fame, 
or the curious interest with Avhich the public mind sur- 
rounded him. But the newspapers were Aviser, and Tom 
Avas a celebrity. The great man^s amazement When he met 
his own name in print in close connection Avith Azubah 
Moore ^s and Tom^s was a thing only to be described as 
superlative. We understand,'’^ said the great daily in- 
telligencer of fashion, that a marriage has been arranged 
between Mr. Thomas Carroll, tlie Avell-knoAvn composer, 


358 


HEAKTS: QUEEN^ KKAYE, AETD DEUCE. 


and Miss Moore of OverhilL The lady is a daughter of a 
tenant on the estate of Mr. Carroll^ senior. 

When the first shock of amazement was over, Mr. Car- 
roll senior contented himself for a little while by the stiff est 
possible certainty that the whole story was a lie. Tom 
seemed to be a mark for scandal of one sort or another. 
By and by this certainty began to loosen and to spread into 
a tangle of t^^certainty, and at last, after a day or two, he 
cut out the paragraph which had so amazed him, gummed 
it to a sheet of letter-paper, and wrote beneath it: 

SlE, — Oblige me by contradicting this report. 

Yours, etc., 

Thomas Carkoll.^^ 

When he had folded up this lordly note and had directed 
and sealed it, he began to doubt whether he would send it 
after all. He set it, in this indecision, in one of the 
drawers in his writing-desk, and locked it there; and every 
day his sense of dignity and his wishes had a fight together 
when he went to look at the note, and debated whether he 
should send it. One morning, not more than a week after 
he had read the announcement of Tom^s impending mar- 
riage, he saw, at his solitary breakfast-table, another proc- 
lamation which took him by surprise. We understand, 
said Fashion^ s intelligencer, that a marriage has been 
arranged between Mr. Antonio Baretti, A.R.A., and Mary, 
only daughter of Mr. Lordipg, of Beech Tree Hall, Worces- 
tershire."^^ 

Surely the world was upside down. 

People called upon him at times, and he was not alto- 
gether shut in from the world. He heard, and even invit- 
ed, opinions upon the astounding news above recorded. It 
become evident to him that the world at large had gone 
mad, and he began to be seriously of belief that he was the 
only sane man left in the country. 

Still reading day by day the columns of the intelligencer 
of Fashion, he found, one morning, a record of the mar- 
riage of Mr. Antonio Baretti, A.E.A., and Mary, only 
daughter of Charles Lording, Esq. Scarcely had he read 
this through than he fell upon Carroll — Moore,^^ and 
read that Thomas Carroll and Azubah Moore were also 
united in the bonds of matrimony. The first thing he did 


hearts: queek, kkave^ akb deuce. 359 

was to ring his belh and^ this summons being answered by 
the butler, he gave him solemn warning and a check for six 
months^ wages. Then he sent for the other servants, one 
by one, and dismissed and paid each of them, down to 
coachman, groom, and stable-boy. The domestics, con- 
sulting with each other, believed that they saw a peculiar 
something in his manner, and determined to send for a 
doctor. The doctor came and managed to pretend a casual 
visit. To his surprise, the master of the house received him 
with open hands. 

You arrive at an auspicious moment,^^ he said gra- 
ciously, and I am glad to welcome the first volunteer in 
favor of my scheme. 

I do not as yet,^^ said the doctor, cautiously, fully 
understand your scheme, sir. 

No?^^ said Mr. Carroll, with a pitying smile. I had 
thought it clear even to the world^s intelligence. 

Doctor Morton began to be sure of what the servants had 
only suspected. 

Pardon my dullness, Mr. Carroll, he said, with suav- 
ity and submission, may I beg that you will be good 
enough to instruct me?^^ 

With pleasure,^ ^ said the master of the house. My 
asylum is open to the world at large, but I receive volun- 
teers only. You display some power of reflection by com- 
ing here at all, and I have hope of your ultimate cure. 

I am happy to hear you say so,*^^ returned the doctor, 
beginning to see his way. I shall be delighted if you 
will undertake my case.'^^ 

Morton,""^ said Mr. Carroll, you have lucid moments. 
I have hope of you. 

I trust, sir,^^ said the doctor, shrewdly, that you may 
be induced to extend your benevolence to at least one or 
two of your old servants. 

Nothing will delight me more,^^ he answered, majes- 
tically. But not one of them has made submission. 

After some further parley the doctor secured leave to act 
as CarrolPs embassador, and took advantage of the first 
moment of absence to wire to Tom that his father was in a 
serious condition, and that it would be necessary for him at 
once to call upon the family lawyer in town. Next he 
wired to the family lawyer, and then gave the servants in- 
structions to stay in the house for the time being. Should 


360 hearts: queeh^ knave, and deuce. 

they meet their master, they were to agree to everything 
he said. 

Mr. Carroll watched the doctor with great care, and had 
more and more hope of his recovery. The doctor held the 
situation with great skill, but, do all he could, he was un- 
able to keep the news from the village. Before either Tom 
or the family lawyer could arrive the whole population of 
Overhill knew that the squire^s intellect had given way. 
His delusion was that the whole world was mad, and that 
he, being the only sane creature left in it, was appointed to 
be its deliverer. He was absolutely harmless, and no more 
pompous in his manner than of old. He introduced the 
doctor to people about the village as a promising patient, 
and held him up as an example to be followed. • 

Tom and the lawyer arrived together, and he welcomed 
them as an accession to his stock of likely cases. 

My dear Tom,^^ he said suavely, I could wish that I 
had adopted this course earlier. But it is only of late days 
that I have become convinced of the truth, and in judging 
you at the time I made no allowance for the general men- 
tal aberration of the world. It is not yet recognized, but 
in time it will be. The whole world is mad. Providence 
has been pleased to spare me from the general affliction, 
and I shall make it my humble duty to inaugurate a cure. 
I hope to do no more, for the span of life is brief and the 
task promises to be almost endless. 

All this was very terrible for Tom to listen to, but he 
got through with it as well as he could, and assented to 
everything. 

I believe you are married, Tom?^^ said the elder, after 
a pause. 

Yes, sir,-"^ returned Tom, dreading an outburst which 
might result in damage. 

A total abolition of association between the sexes would 
perhaps be the shortest way to an universal cure,^^ said his 
father calmly. But that can not be hoped for. The 
best thing you can do will be to bring your wife here and 
allow her to be placed under my control and influence. If 
she assents willingly — not otherwise. I am too hampered 
by want of time to undertake the hopeless cases. The only 
way with them will be to let them die out. 

All things considered, this seemed the wisest thing to do 
for the moment, even though a madman had suggested it. 


HEAKTS: QUEEK^ KNAVE^ AKD DEUCE. 361 

The man of law went back to his business^ and when he 
was questioned as to his client^s sanity, he’ had but one 
answer: 

Mr. Carroll says now what he thought always. 

This was no doubt a somewhat crude presentation of the 
case, but there was a taste of truth in it. 

Tom could not desert his father at such a time as this, 
and Azubah would not be separated from her husband. So 
they took up their abode at Trench House, and, in spite of 
their affection for each other, were but a sad young pair of 
married lovers for a month or two. Mr. Carroll treated 
them with great kindness. 

I compel your will in nothing,^^ he would say. My 
aim is to inspire by example. 

So they did whatever they wished, and had perfect free- 
dom; but there was always a shade upon the house, and 
upon their hearts. 

The county neighbors were, of course, all anxiety to see 
Tom^s rustic bride. They found out by and by that the 
Parish Church was the only place in which they had a 
chance of seeing her, and those who were far afield from 
Overhill got invitations from the local magnates, and went 
to church with the laudable purpose of staring at her. 
The concert platform is a school in which a woman can 
learn a look of perfect self-possession, and Azubah had 
learned it. When the county magnates stared at the rustic 
bride, they saw a lady of charming aspect, who moved as 
gracefully and naturally as a bird flies or a fish swims. 
XValking is a rare art amongst English women, and she 
had it to perfection. She was so dressed that her dress 
might have been born with her and grown up with her — 
the result of artistic taste and a simple nature. When 
they heard her speak — and only a few of them as yet had 
the opportunity — they made note of a voice singularly soft 
and liquid. This pleasing organ was set to good English 
without a trace of rusticity in its tone. They were bound 
to own that she looked like a lady, talked like a lady, and 
bore herself like a lady, and having been compelled to these 
admissions, they agreed gravely that it was easy to acquire 
a veneer of good manners. 

Now, you veneer worthless goods, but good ones you are 
content to polish. Nobody veneers ebony, satin wood, or 
walnut. These have their good looks internally, and in 


362 


hearts: queeh^ khave^ and deuce. 


like manner and for like reason Tom^s wife stood in need 
of no veneer. Even the eounty magnates have found this 
out by now, for the world is at large good-natured, and can 
forget its own egotisms if you give it time. 

Mr. Carroll kept his asylum and watched his keeper with 
kindly dignity and diligence for the space of one year. At 
the end of that time he slept with his fathers, and was 
lamented. His year of madness was marked by a wonder- 
ful gentleness toward all people, and he was the very pink 
of courtesy. The only sane man in a world of lunatics, he 
made allowances, and nothing perturbed him. Had he 
lasted longer, he might have lived to be as well-beloved as 
any man in the county, for there was a sweetness about 
him which few could resist. Everybody humored him and 
was gentle with him in remembrance of his affliction ; and 
he, pitying that affliction in all mankind, humored every- 
body, and was gentle with high and low. 

A year later (and that comparatively is but the other day) 
the heir to Trench House began really to take the place in 
the world to which his position, his abilities and his nature 
gave him title. There is no man happier and there are 
few more prosperous, though there are many who might 
beat him at the game of counting sovereigns. 

There was a little odd strangeness for awhile between 
Tom and Baretti. You see that Mrs. Baretfci had once 
been engaged to Tom, and that the engagement had never 
been formally annulled when both the faithless ones got 
married. That feeling wore away, and they are as stanch 
friends as ever. Baretti lives at Beech Tree Hall and 
paints there, and Lording is prodigiously proud of him. A 
masterpiece of portraiture which hangs in the dining-room 
at this hour represents an old gentleman of genial British 
aspect, in a dressing-gown, looking at a young lady of 
lovely exterior, who has an olive-colored half-nude young 
rascal in her lap; a lad with beautiful limbs, and eyes, and 
curls like Baretti^ s. 

Tom is at work on a new opera which is to give England 
a right to claim a place in the world of music. Baretti 
swears it, and when men talk of Wagner, or Verdi, or 
Gounod as possible rivals to Tom Carroll, he shrugs his 
shoulders and abandons discussion. To Tom^s mind 
Baretti is the greatest painter in the world, and they are 
bosom friends still, and likely to be. 


HEARTS; QUEEH, KKAVE^ AND DEUCE. 


363 


Carroll/^ said the little man one night as they sat 
together in a half -darkness by the fireside after dinner at 
Tonies house. Oarroll, are you happy 

As the day is long/^ said Tom. And so are you?^^ 
There is no man happier in the world/^ returned the 
painter. He arose and paced up and down in the old way. 

It is strange/^ he said, after a long pause, but every- 
thing is strange. It was a villain^ s struggle to damage you 
which made me happy. He left you imharmed in the long 
run, too. 

Poor Mark,^^ said Tom. It was a bitter close to a 
sad chapter, Baretti. 

I thank God solemnly that he died in prison,^^ said 
Baretti. I thank God solemnly that there is yet to be 
found here and there a touch of justice in the world. I 
thank God that he lives no longer to blot an honorable 
name and to be a thorn in the best - and gentlest heart I 
ever knew/^ 


THE EHD. 


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LIST OP AUTHOES. 


Works by the author of “ Addie’s 
Husband,” 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or, Through 


Clouds to Sunshine 10 

504 My Poor Wife 10 

Works by the author of “ A Great 
Mistake.” 

244 A Great Mistake 20 

246 A Fatal Dower 10 

372 Phylli^ Probation 10 

461 His AVedded AVife 20 

588 Cherry 10 

Mrs. Alexander’s Works, 

5 The Admiral’s AVard 20 

17 The AVooing O’t 20 

62 The Executor 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate 10 

229 Maid, AVife. or Widow? 10 

236 AVhich Shall it Be? 20 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid... 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

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278 For Life and Love 10 

431 The House That Jack Built 10 

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225 The Giant’s Robe 20 

503 The Tinted Venus. A Farcical 
Romance 10 

R. M. Ballautyne’s Works. 

89 The Red Eric 10 

95 The Fire Brigade 10 

96 Erling the Bold 10 

0 ) 


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188 Idonea 20 

199 The Fisher Village 10 

Basil’s Works, 

344 “ The Wearing of the Green ” . . 20 

547 A Coquette’s Conquest 20 

585 A Drawn Game 20 


M. Betham-Ed wards’s Works. 

273 Love and Mirage; or. The Wait- 
ing on an Island 10 

579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories lO 

594 Doctor Jacob 20 


Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

137 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other 

Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 

230 Dorothy Forster 20 

324 In Luck at Last 10 

651 “ Self or Bearer ” 10 


William Black’s Works, 

1 Yolande 20 

18 Shandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of These 

Times 20 

23 A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire 20 

44 Macleod of Dare 20 

49 That Beautiful AVretch 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBBART.— Pocket Edition. 


William Black’s Works— Con- 


tinued. 

78 Madcap Violet 20 

81 A Dau^diter of Heth 20 

124 Three Featliers 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 20 

126 Kilmeny 20 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 20 


265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 
Affairs and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 10 
627 White Heather 20 


R. D. Blackinore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 20 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 
Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 20 

615 Mary Anerley 20 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin... 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. First half... 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. Second half. 20 

631 Christowell. A Dartmoor Tale 20 

632 ('lara Vaughan 20 

633 The IMaid of Sker. First halL . 20 
633 The Maid of Sker. Second half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. First half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. Second half.. 20 

Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under tlie Red Flag 10 

153 The Golden Calf 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara ; or. Splendid Misery. . 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss Braddon 20 

434 Wyllard’s Weird 20 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. K. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter.... 20 

489 Rupert God win 20 

495 Mount Royal 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

511 A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 
Shadow in the Corner 10 


549 Dudley Carleon; or. The Broth- 


er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) 20 

557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

570 -John Marchmont’s Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme, 
Author. of “Bora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 10 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love 20 

76 Wife in Name Only 20 

79 Wedded and Parted 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms.. 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

237 Repented at Leisure 20 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter ”. . 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime 10 

287 At War With Herself.* 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight 10 

291 Love’s AVarfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

294 Hilda 10 

295 A AVoman’s AVar 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 My Sister Kate 10 

459 A AVoman’s Temptation 20 

460 Under a Shadow 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

466 Between Two Loves 20 


467 A Struggle for a Ring. 20 

(^) 


TEE SEASIDE LI BE ARY. ---‘Pocket Edition. 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme— 
Continued. 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins 10 

516 Put Asunder; or, Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom . 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirley 20 

Rhoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard.. 10 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 10 

Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

375 A Ride to Khiva 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor 20 

E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works. 

521 Entangled 20 

538 A Fair Country Maid 20 

Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 20 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial 20 

608 For Lilias 20 

Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

167 Heart and Science 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot 10 

233 “ I Say No;” or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Girl at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Money 10 


Hugh Conway’s Works. 

240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 


J. Feniiiiore Cooper’s Works. 

60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

361 The Red Rover 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

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385 The Headsman; or, The Ab- 

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666 My Young Alcides 20 

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156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

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218 Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James.. 20 

219 Lady Clare : or. The Master of 

the Forges. From French of 

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242 The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 


253 The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
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266 The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 

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274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
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285 The Gambler’s Wife... 20 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
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311 Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY Pocket Edition, 


Miscellaneous— Continued. 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two 
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334 A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 

335 The White Witch 

338 The Family Difficulty. Sarah 

Doudney 

340 Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 

341 Madolin Rivers; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 

347 As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 

Vince '. 

350 Diana of fhe Crossways. George 

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352 At Any Cost. Edward Garrett. 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

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355 The Princess Dagomar of Po- 

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356 A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 

365 George Christy; or. The For- 

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366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 

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381 The Red Cardinal. Frances 

Elliot 

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383 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 

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387 The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
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403 An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 
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405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

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407 Tylney Hall. Thomas Hood. . . 
426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

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430 A Bitter Reckoning. Author 

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432 The Witch’s Head. H. Rider 
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435 Klytia ; A Story of Heidelberg 

Castle. George Taylor 

436 Stella. Fanny Lewald 

441 A Sea Change. Flora L. Shaw. 

442 Ranthorpe. George Henry 

Ij0 W0S 

443 The Bachelor of the Albany... 
452 In the West Countrie. May 

Crommelin 


The Russians at the Gates of 

Herat. Charles Marvin 10 

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Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
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With forty-two illustrations 

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Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

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Society in London. A Foreign 

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Mr. Butler’s Ward. F. Mabel 

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and Lord” 10 

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Curly : An Actor’s Story. John 

Coleman 10 

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Paul Vasili 10 

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J. H. Needed 20 

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Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 10 

My Wife’s Niece. By the author 

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No. 99. Arthur Griffiths 10 

Primus in Indis. M. J. Colqu- 

houn 10 

Wedded Hands. Author of 
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457 

20 458 

10 

20 402 

10 

20 468 

20 474 

20 479 

483 

10 485 

491 

20 493 

10 501 

20 

510 

20 512 

504 

20 505 

10 509 

518 

20 519 

526 

10 

10 536 

10 545 

20 546 

10 

20 571 

10 575 

^0 

20 

in 583 

10 584 

20 585 

20 589 

20 612 

20 

614 

20 624 

10 

628 

20 

( 9 ) 


TEE SEASIDE LIBBABY.--PocJcei EUition, 


Miscellaneous— Continued. 
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637 What’s His Offence? 20 

641 The Rabbi’s Spell. Stuart C. 
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643 The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey 

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644 A Girton Girl. Mrs. Annie Ed- 

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652 The Lady with the Rubies. E. 

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654 “ Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

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662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 

Isabella Fy vie Mayo 20 


675 Mrs. Dymond. Miss Thackeray 20 
677 Griselda. Author of “ A Wom- 


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668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 
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679 Where Two Ways Meet. Sarah 

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681 A Singer’s Story. May Laffan. 10 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. Mrs. J. Harcourt-Roe. 20 

680 Fast and Loose. Arthur Grif- 

fiths 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. Robert Louis 
Stevenson ^ 10 


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melin 10 

648 The Angel of the Bells. By F. 

Du Boisgobey 20 

649 Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 20 

650 Alice; or, The Mysteries. (A Se- 

quel to “ Ernest Maltravers.”) 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 

651 “Self or Bearer” By Walter 

Besant 10 

652 The Lady With the Rubies. By 

E. Marh'tt ; 20 

653 A Barren Title. T. W. Speight 10 

654 “Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

By Mrs. IMoles worth 10 

655 The Open Door, and The Por- 

trait. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior... 10 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. 

Far jeon 10 

658 The History of a Week. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 10 

659 The Waif of the “ Cynthia.” By 

Jules Verne 20 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 1st half 20 

660 The Scottish Chiefs. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 2d half 20 

661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 

tie Murray 20 

662 The Mystery of Allan Grale. 

By Isabella Fy vie Mayo 20 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel 

Lover 20 

664 RoryO’More. By Samuel Lover 20 

665 The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

666 My Young Alcides. By Char- 

lotte M. Yonge 20 

667 The Golden Lion of Granpere. 

By Anthony Trollope 20 

668 Haif-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

670 The Rose and the Ring. By W. 

M. Thackeray. Illustrated... 10 


NO. PRICE. 

671 Don Gesualdo. By“Ouida.”.. 10 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 

1st half 20 

672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 

2d ha,lf 20 


673 Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

674 First Peison Singular. By 

David Christie Muri ay 20 

675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thack- 

eray 20 

676 A Child’s History of England. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 

W’^oinan’s Love-Story ” 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

679 Where Two Waj^s Meet. By 

Sarah Doudney 20 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 10 

68T A Singer’s Story. By May Laf- 

fan 10 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. By Mrs. J. Harcourt- 
Roe 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

685 England Under Gladstone. 1880 

—1885. By Justin H. McCarthy, 
M.P 20 


686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson . . 10 

688 A Man of Honor. By John 

Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan.- 20 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce. By David Christie 

Murray 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Ist half... 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half... 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 2d half 20 


The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of price. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Ad- 
dF0SS * 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

MUNRO’S PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

P. O. Box 3751. ^ 17 to 27 Vaude water Street, N. Y. 


NEW TABERNACLE SERMONS 

BY 

\ll T. Dewitt TALMjlGE, D.D, 


Handsomely Bound in Cloth. 12mo. Price $1.00. 


The latest of Dr. Talmage’s sermons have not yet been pre- 
sented in book form. They have appeared weekly in The NEiif 
York Fireside Companion, and are now 

Published for the First Time in Book Form, 

THE PRICE OF WHICH IS WITHIN THE REACH OF ALL. 



PRINTED IN 

GLEAR, BOLD, HANDSOME TYPE, 

AND WILL MAKE 

AN ELEGANT AND ACCEPTABLE HOLIDAY GIFT, 

The above will be sent postpaid on receipt of price, $1.00. 


Address 

GEORG-E MUNRO, Publisher, 


V. Q. Box 3751 


17 to 27 Vande water Street. New York* 


JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED 


JULIET CORSON’S 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JUIilET CORSON, 

Author of “Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent op the New York School of Cookery. 


FBICE: HANFSOUELY BOUND IN CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COMPLETE COOK BOOK 

for Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

\mCTICAL RECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

rhe Best and Most Economical Methods of Cooking Meats, Fishi 
Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies. 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked-up Dishes, 
Soups, Seasoning, Stuffing and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscliit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pan- 
cakes, Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
Wave been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc* 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for eom- 
lilaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed 

Juliet Corson’s New Family Cook Book 

In sold by all newsdealers. It will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of pri(s«' 
handsomely bound in cloth, $1.00. Address 

GEORGE MTJNRO,- 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

P. *. Box 3761. 17 to 27 Vandewater St.. N. V. 


I'HE WEW YORK fASHIOK BAZAR 


BOOK OF THE TOILET 

PRICE S5 CEiXTS. 

THIS IS A LITTLE BOOK 

WHICH 

WE CAN RECOMMEND TO EVERY LADY 

FOR THE 

ilUiSDBVATlON AND INCBEASE OF HEALTH AND BEAHTl 

IT CONTAINS FULL DIRECTIONS FOR ALL THE 

ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL- DECORATION, 

AND FOB 

Increasing the Natural Graces of Form and Expression. 

ALL THE LITTLE AFFECTIONS OF THE 

'Hair, Esrea and. IBocL-y 

THAT DETRACT ETIOM APPEARANCE AN^ HAPPINESS 

Are Made the Subjects of Precise and Esicellent Pecipes. 

Ladies Are Instructed How to Reduce Their Weight 

Without Injury to Health and Without Producing 
Pallor and Weakness. 

ISrOTHIHG NECESSARY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND 

VALUABLE ADVICE AND INFOBMATION 
HAS BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLUME 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of 26 cent^ 
jAOStage prepaid, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House, 

F. O. Bc 2 ^1. 17 to 27 Vandewater Streep N. V. 


“Ouida’s” Latest Novel Now Readj in 
Large, Bold, Handsome T;ype. 


OTHMAR. 

By “ OUIDA.” 

Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, Ko. 639, 

IPJR1€£ • 20 CENTS. 


' For sale by all newsdealers, or sent to any address, postage prepaid, 
on receipt of price, 20 cents. Address 

GEORGE MUNBO, Munro’s PuMishing House, 

P.O.Box 3751. 17 to ^7* Van dewater Street) N. Y. 


^TOW EBADT-Beautifully Bound in Oloth-PBIOE 60 OENTf? 


A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OF CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland. 

By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of “ Through the Looking-Glass/* etc. 

With Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tenniel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
book to be read by all mothers to their little ones. It makes them danc< 
with delight. Everybody enjoys the fun of this charming writer for th< 
nursery. 

THIS NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION, BOUND IN CLOTH, PRICE 50 CENTS 
IS PRINTED IN LARGE, HANDSOME, READABLE TYPE, 
WITH ALL THE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
OF THE EXPENSIVE ENGLISH EDITION. 


^ent l>y Mail on BSeceipt ©Y 50 Cents. 


Address GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Fublisliina: House* 

F. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New Yorkc 


TJ 3Sr IS O ’ s 


DIALOGUES AND SPEAKEDS. 

PRICE TEN CENTS. 


These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all ne\r and 
original, and are ^’ust Tvhat is needed to give spice and merriment to Social 
Parties, Home Entertainments, Debating Societies, School Recitations, 
Amateur Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, 
and. in fact, all kinds of Dialogues and Speeches. The following are the 
titles of the books; 

No. 1, THE FUNNY FELLOW’S DIALOGUES. 

No. 2. THE CLEMENCE AND DONKEY DIALOGUES. 
No. 3. MRS. SMITH’S BOARDERS’ DIALOGUES. 
No. 4. SCHOOLBOYS’ COMIC DIALOGUES. 


No. 1. YOT I KNOW ’BOUT GRUEL SOCIETIES SPEAKER. 
No. 2 . JOHN B. GO OFF COMIC SPEAKER. 

No. 3. MY BOY VILHELM’S SPEAKER. 


The above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the books, 
which are conceded to be the best series of mirth-provoking Speeches and 
Dialogues extant. Address 

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MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Old Sleuth Library 


A Series of the Most Tlirillin^ Detective Stories 
Ever Puhlislied! 


NO. PRICE. 

1 Old Sleuth the Detective 10c 

2 The King of the Detectives 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. First half 10c 

3 Old Sleuth’s Triumph. Second half. 10c 

4 Under a Million Disguises 10c 

5 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

6 Old Electricity, the Lightning Detective 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. First half 10c 

7 The Shadow Detective. Second half. 10c 

8 Red-Light Will, the River Detective 10c 

9 Iron Burgess, the Government Detective 10c 

10 The Brigands of New York 10c 

11 Tracked by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives 10c 

13 The French Detective 10c 

14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

15 The New York Detective 10c 

16 O’Neil McDarragh, the Irish Detective 10c 

17 Old Sleuth in Harness Again 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

19 The Yankee Detective 10c 

20 The Fastest Boy in New York iOc 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Night-Hawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

23 The Gypsy Detective 10c 

24 The Mysteries and Miseries of New York 10c 

25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of New York Bay 10c 

27 Manfred, the Magic Trick Detective 10c 


The Publisher will send any of the above works by mail, 
postage prepaid, on receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNEO, 

Munro’s Publishing House, 

17 to ^ Van4e water Street. New Yorkf 


r,0. Box 3761, 


HUNTERS’ YARNS. 


A COLLECTION OF 

Wild and Amusing Adventures : 

COMPRISING 

THRILLING BATTLES WITH INDIANS, TER- 
RIFIC ENCOUNTERS WITH SERPENTS 
AND ALLIGATORS, LONG SWIMS, 
RACES FOR LIFE, WONDERFUL 
FISH AND GHOST STORIES, 

Etc., Etc., Etc., 


As Related by Hunters to their Compan- 
ions Around the Camp-fire. 


This book is beyond question the best publication of its class that 
has yet appeared. It is a neat volume of one hundred pages, closely 
printed matter, all original, and embraces many side-splitting jokes and 
yarns of the ever-ready and sharp-witted trapper and hunter. 


PRICE CEIVXS. 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or sent to any address on receipt of the jMico, 
25 cents, postage prepaid, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, 

Munro's Publishing House, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, No ^ 


P. O. Box 8761. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATION& 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 

ORDINARY EDITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Publishing House. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, 
on receipt of the price, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please 
order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Yalerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Yes^ker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

61 Kilmenj. «... ««» 10 


THE CELEBRATED 



0EAOT), SQTJAEE AND UPEISHT PIANOS^ 



ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPUEAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER efe CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count ot their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leadirlg musicians 
and critics. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibi- 
tion, 1876: Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 


The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 


FROM THE 
NERVE- GIVING 
PRINCIPLES OF 
THE OX-BRAIN 
AND THE GERM 
OF THE WHEAT 
AND OAT. 

BRAIN AHBNERTI FOOD. 

CltOSIlY’S 

VITALIZED PHOSPHITES 

Is a standard witli all Physicians ^vho treat 
nervous or mental disorders. It builds up 
worn out nerves, lianishes sleeplessness, 
neuralgia and sick headache. It promotes 
good digestion. It restores the energv lost 
by nervousness, debility, or over-exiiaust- 
ion : regenerates weakened vital powers. 


“ It amplifies bodily and mental power to 
the present generation, and proves the sur- 
vival of the fittest to the next.”— Bismarck. 

“ It strengthens nervous power. It is the 
only medical relief I have ever known for 
an over-worked brain.”— G ladstone. 


“ I really urge you to put it to the test.”— 
Miss Emily Faithful. 

F. CROSBY CO., 56 W. 25th St., N. Y. 

For sale by Drtiggists, or by mail $1. 



NEW 

TABERNACW SERMONS. 

Preached in the Brooklyn Tabernacle. 
By Rev. T. DeWitt Talmage, D.l), 

12mo. Handsomely Bound in Cloth $1.00. 


CONTENTS 


Brawn and Muscle. 
The Pleiades and Orion 
The Queen’s Visit. 
Vicarious Suffering. 
Posthumous Opportu- 
nity. 

The Lord’s Razor. 
Windows Toward Je- 
rusalem. 

Stormed and Taken. 
All the Worfd Akin. 

A Momentous Quest. 
The Great Assize. 

The Road to the City. 
The Ransomless. 

The Three Groups. 


The Insignificant. 

The Three Rings. 

How He Came to Say 
It. 

Castle Jesus. 

Stripping the Slain. 
Sold Out. 

Summer Temptations. 
The Banished Queen. 
The Day We Live In. 
Capital and Labor. 
Tobacco and Opium. 
Despotism of the 
Needle. 

Why are Satan and Sin 
Permitted? 


The book will be forwarded, postage pre- 
paid, on receipt of price, $1.00. Address 


GEORGE MUNRO, Munro's Piibllshlng House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 
































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